


Bridges

by stilinstuck (superagentwolf)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Multi, Witch Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7654744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/stilinstuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is only three when Derek first meets him. He's tagging along with his mother, a witch who consults with the Hales.<br/>Their eventual friendship is a long, strange tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Over the Years

Derek is eight when he first sees Stiles.

The Pack are having a meeting. He hears his parents talking about “the witch” and he wonders what’s happening. Laura is bustling around, ordering Derek to do random things like wipe the kitchen counters and move all the random DVDs in the living room out of sight.

It’s a typical getting-ready-for-visitors day.

When the strange woman shows up, Derek peeks into the dining room to see her. She has brown hair and it’s wavy-curly, falling around her shoulders. There is a small child on her lap, maybe three years old. He’s quiet, Derek thinks, which is strange because he’s used to his loud little cousins and the noises of the Pack.

The child is a boy, with pale skin and dark brown hair. Derek holds his breath when the kid twists in his mom’s lap and his gold eyes fall on Derek. He looks curious.

The kid makes a noise and Derek’s father turns around.

Derek runs from the door.

 

* * *

 

It’s another Pack meeting with “the witch” before Derek really _meets_ Stiles. His mother sets him on the ground for a minute, signing some papers. The kid quietly pads out of the room, rounding the corner to look up at Derek.

Derek panics and backpedals into the kitchen. He’s twelve now, barely remembering the toddler he saw before.

“Who are you?” the kid asks. His eyes are very gold.

“Derek.”

“Derek,” the kid repeats, nodding to himself as if he’s going to remember it forever.

Derek’s skin itches.

“You should probably go back,” he tries, desperate. He doesn’t want to be caught with the kid but he doesn’t want to leave him alone, either.

“I’m Stiles,” the kid says, watching Derek’s face. “Are you a wolf?”

Derek doesn’t get the chance to answer before Laura appears, shushing Stiles and waving Derek away.

 

* * *

 

Derek is fifteen. He doesn’t like being around people all too much. His father says it’s an age thing.

Walking in the woods is his favorite pastime. He slips away most days, getting home just to throw his backpack in the house before leaving again. No one says much- they know their territory is safe and Derek is at the age where the wolf in him is poised to take over. He needs balance. Balance he can only find on his own.

“Derek.”

It’s Stiles. He’s older, Derek thinks, but still pale and golden-eyed. They’re standing in a clearing by the quiet creek and Derek swallows, wondering if he should run.

_Stupid. He already knows._

“Hi,” Derek says lamely, hoping Stiles will leave him alone.

“It’s been a while,” Stiles says, grinning. His smile is like the sun. “How are you?”

“Um-,” Derek starts, taken aback. Stiles is talking like they’re best friends. “Fine.”

Stiles nods, still smiling. He jumps up to grab a tree branch, skinny arms straining as he dangles. His shoes are red.

“Good. My mom said your land will probably be safe forever,” Stiles notes, swinging his legs. “Anyways, it’s nice out here. I bet lots of people would want it but you have a big Pack.”

Stiles’ chatter is disconcerting. Derek’s siblings aren’t quiet by any means but Stiles isn’t family. He’s really a stranger. It’s weird to Derek, a stranger talking so openly to him.

“I guess,” Derek hedges, trying to act as if he’s going to leave.

Stiles drops from the branch, brows furrowed. He’s frowning a little.

“I’ll go,” he says.

The way Stiles says it, Derek gets the feeling he says it a lot. For some reason, the thought makes him sad. _No one should be alone_.

“Do you have a big family?” Derek asks quickly. Stiles pauses, watching Derek with a keen gaze.

_I think he’s smarter than he lets on_.

“No. Just my dad,” Stiles says, shrugging.

_Oh._ Derek nods, desperately trying to think of something to say. People aren’t his strong suit.

“My dad’s a sheriff. He’s always working,” Stiles continues. Derek is secretly glad he doesn’t have to come up with something else to say. “I like coming to the forest during the day.”

“Your mom wrote one of our treaties,” Derek supplies, hoping to bring Stiles’ smile back.

It returns easily to the boy’s face, lighting up his eyes. Derek feels his heart pound. _I did it._

“Yeah. She said she liked helping ‘bridge the gap’,” Stiles explains, walking over to the creek. Derek follows. “She said people should get along more.”

“She’s smart,” Derek says, thinking of the other Packs that visit sometimes.

There’s old blood in some communities. Especially between Hunters and wolves but sometimes between Packs themselves. Derek doesn’t really understand some of the arguments. Laura has told him over and over why they exist but Derek can’t see the point in lasting grudges when all those involved are long dead.

“How old are you?” Stiles asks, balancing on a stone in the creek.

“Careful,” Derek says automatically. Stiles looks back at him, an eyebrow raised. Derek tries not to blush, coughing. “Fifteen.”

“You’re in high school?” Stiles asks, moving to another stone. Derek watches.

“I am. What about you?”

Stiles doesn’t get a chance to answer. When he puts his foot down, it slips on scum and he teeters sideways, arms moving like pinwheels.

Derek thinks he shouts something but he isn’t sure. All he knows is that he runs to the creek and when he gets there, Stiles is already soaked, laughing brightly as he sits in the shallow water.

Stiles’ laughter burbles like the creek and Derek finds, oddly, that it’s infectious.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is always happy to see Derek. They run into each other sometimes in the woods. Stiles has a hard time getting out of the house, his father watching him closely after his mother’s death.

“So you don’t like popcorn,” Stiles says one day as they climb a tree.

The tree is huge. Stiles tells Derek if he climbs too he’ll bring popcorn next time. Derek says he doesn’t like popcorn but he climbs anyways.

“No. Only with movies.”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles laughs, scraping his palm on a jagged edge of bark.

“What’s your favorite food?” Derek asks.

“Hm…macaroni!” Stiles shouts, jumping onto a higher branch.

“Be careful!” Derek shouts from lower down.

Stiles laughs, swinging his legs as he sits to wait for Derek.

He likes talking to the werewolf.

 

* * *

 

Derek is seventeen when he sees Stiles again. There’s a Pack training day and they’re gathered outside the house, chatting. When his parents emerge from the house, Derek blinks. Stiles is with them.

“This is Stiles,” his mom says, nodding to the boy. “He’ll be watching us today. You are to treat him just as you would any other honored guest.”

The Pack is quiet for a minute. Laura exchanges a look with Derek.

Before they start training, Derek tries to decide whether or not to say something. Stiles makes the choice for him.

“Hey,” Stiles grins, shoving his hands into his red hoodie. _Red again_.

“How are you?” Derek asks. Laura, watching from a distance, raises her eyebrows. He ignores the look she sends him.

“Good. You?” Stiles asks, rocking on his feet. He almost seems to be in perpetual motion.

“All right. I’m sorry I stopped meeting you,” Derek tries, still worried about what Stiles will say.

“It’s okay,” the boy laughs, eyes bright. “I wouldn’t expect you to hang around a kid.”

Derek wants to explain, wants to tell him _it’s not because I didn’t want to see you,_ and he wonders why. He doesn’t get to talk, though, because his parents are calling him and then they start training.

Derek is distracted the whole time, thinking about Stiles sitting on the porch by himself.

 

* * *

 

Derek is eighteen and he thinks he’s in love.

Kate is beautiful and powerful and confident. She is everything Derek is not because he’s eighteen and the wolf in him is struggling in its bonds.

Kate gives Derek gifts, smiles at him when the Hunters visit, whispers jokes in his ears during the conversations. She gives him attention and he eats it up, not knowing that her words are poisoned.

Stiles is at a meeting one day. Derek still isn’t sure what’s happening, thinks that maybe Stiles is training to take his mother’s place. He hasn’t seen Stiles’ mother since he was twelve.

“Derek!” Stiles says happily, waving as he approaches.

Kate snickers next to Derek.

“Hey,” Derek says, smiling. “You got new shoes.”

“Yeah,” Stiles laughs, rocking on his red sneakers. “I ran my old ones thin.”

“That’s nice, honey,” Kate interjects, voice oozing honey.

Derek distantly realizes Kate’s using the same voice she does to tell jokes about people during meetings. It makes him frown a little and he glances at her. Her eyes are bright and she gives him a look. _Can you believe this kid?_

“Are you watching again today?” Derek asks.

“Yup. Cora’s getting stronger, you know. She might even be able to beat you up!”

Kate laughs, covering her mouth as she turns into Derek. Derek looks at her, vaguely confused.

“Honey, please,” Kate says to Stiles. “Derek is _much_ stronger than _you_ know.”

Stiles blinks, gives a little uncomfortable laugh, and ducks away. Derek is left standing there, surprised.

“Why did you say that?” Derek asks.

“He’s a kid,” Kate explains, already bored with the conversation. “He probably wouldn’t have stopped bugging you. Besides, I thought you wanted to be alone.”

Her smile is toxic but Derek doesn’t notice.

 

* * *

 

There’s a training day and Laura is arguing with Derek.

“You’re never around anymore. Pack is about _family_ ,” Laura says.

“I _know_ that,” Derek says, annoyed. _Family, family, family. Like I don’t get enough of that speech from our parents._

Laura gazes at Derek, her expression disappointed.

“We’re a team, you know. If you can’t work with the rest of the Pack, what kind of future do you think you’ll have?”

Derek ignores her and shakes his head. Laura doesn’t follow him when he walks away.

When they start training, Derek works with Cora. His little sister doesn’t talk much, focusing on landing hits. Derek can’t concentrate, barely scraping by. He can feel Laura’s eyes on him.

From the porch, Stiles watches, too.

They’re an hour into training when a _snick_ issues from the forest.

One of his cousins drops to their knees, growling. He’s been hit in the leg- not fatally but painfully. His father drags him back towards the house and the rest of the Pack form up, on edge and transformed.

“Who’s there?” Derek’s father calls. The forest is silent.

Derek’s uncle looks up from the ground, a bolt in his hands. It’s silver-tipped.

“Hunters,” the man spits, glaring into the woods.

“Not the Argents,” Laura says, sniffing. “Strangers.”

In what seems like the blink of an eye, a full-scale assault breaks out.

There are Hunters everywhere. Derek notices most of them don’t carry guns. He assumes they don’t want to attract attention.

In a moment of panic, he thinks, _Stiles_. The boy is human.

He looks back and runs, heart in his throat. There’s a Hunter approaching the boy. Derek feels time rush by, watching the Hunter taking a swipe at Stiles with a knife. Stiles leans backwards on the porch, hands reaching behind his head.

_CRACK_.

The sound of wood hitting bone makes Derek shiver. The Hunter crumples and Stiles stands, wide-eyed but defensive, a bat in his hands.

Derek is about to sigh in relief when Stiles looks his way, eyes widening a fraction.

“Derek!” the boy yells and Derek doesn’t even have time to turn before Stiles throws an arm out.

Derek can hear the low hiss of the knife as it whistles past his ear and into the Hunter’s shoulder.

“Derek!” Laura yells, kicking the hunter behind him as she runs past. “Get him inside!”

He doesn’t even move before Kate’s car is suddenly barreling up the path, sliding to a halt. He feels his heart soar when she gets out, crossbow in hand.

Derek runs to Stiles. When he approaches the boy, he sees Stiles watching Kate. He can almost see the gears turning in his head. Derek almost doesn’t catch his words.

“How did she know?” Stiles murmurs.

In the yard, Derek’s father barely turns his head towards the house.

 

* * *

 

“She didn’t know,” Derek argues.

“We don’t know that,” Laura responds sharply, glaring at her brother.

He’s still technically not supposed to talk too much at family meetings. It’s a stupid rule, he thinks. His mother says he’s not balanced yet.

“She _did_ arrive very quickly,” his mother points out. “We know no one here contacted her.”

“Maybe the Hunters knew,” his father supplies. He sounds unsure.

“Maybe. Were they working together, though? Or did she just hear about it?”

“There’s no way we can know for sure,” Laura sighs. “Chris said he didn’t know anything about it. He mentioned she left but didn’t say anything.”

“And Victoria?” his mother asks. She sounds resigned.

“She didn’t say anything,” Laura says sarcastically.

Derek feels his skin itch and he excuses himself, leaving quietly. _This is stupid. All because she’s a Hunter._

 

* * *

 

“Of course they suspect me,” Kate says. “You know how they are.”

Derek feels the little twinge of anger that tells him _even if they’re wrong, they’re family_.

“I know,” Derek says instead.

“They’ll never let us be together,” Kate says.

“They don’t know,” Derek says. He knows he probably sounds desperate. Weak. He hates it.

“It’s _his_ fault, you know,” Kate says quietly, sighing.

“…who?” Derek asks, dreading the answer.

“Stiles. That kid. Isn’t he the one who said something?”

“He…he’s just a kid,” Derek says lamely. He doesn’t know _what_ to say. He wants to protect Stiles but he knows it’s true.

“Derek,” Kate says sadly, sitting next to him on the couch. “If he hadn’t said anything, we would be fine. It’s his fault they’re looking into this.”

“What can we do?” Derek asks, resigned. “It’s done.”

“Not if we change his mind,” Kate says.

 

* * *

 

They pull up to the Stilinskis’ house in Kate’s car. It’s late in the evening, already dark outside. Stiles can see Derek shifting nervously as he watches from his window.

“Go on,” Kate says encouragingly, standing back as Derek pauses at the door.

He knocks.

“Derek?” Stiles asks when he opens the door. He tries to look happy but he thinks they can see his apprehension.

“Hey,” Derek says, smiling. Kate moves closer behind him.

Stiles’ smile falters.

“Let us in, honey,” Kate says sweetly. It’s not a question.

Stiles swallows. He knows Derek can hear his heartbeat skip, speeding up a little. Stiles steps aside anyways, moving slowly as he closes the door.

“What a cute house,” Kate says, clapping her hands. She’s smiling.

“Thanks,” Stiles manages.

“Look- I just wanted to talk,” Derek tries, sounding like he wants to put him at ease.

“About what?” Stiles asks. He sticks to the edge of the room, moving along the wall as if ready to sprint. He knows there’s a bat by the front door. A shovel by the back.

“Just…what happened,” Derek explains.

Kate exhales. He knows she’s getting impatient and she walks up next to Derek, crossing her arms as she looks down at Stiles.

“Look, honey…I know you said something about me and _we_ just want to make sure you know what’s going on.”

Stiles looks directly at Kate.

“I know,” Stiles says shortly. “You two are sleeping together.”

Derek almost chokes on air, letting out an involuntary noise. Stiles glances at him and he can’t help feeling sorry. He likes Derek. He _doesn’t_ like Kate.

Kate laughs, stepping slowly towards Stiles as if she thinks he won’t notice.

“You’re a smart kid,” Kate grins. “So I’ll just tell you. We want you to tell the Pack you were wrong.”

“I wasn’t,” Stiles replies immediately, gazing directly at Kate.

The room is quiet for a moment and Derek opens his mouth, trying to jump in. Kate doesn’t let him.

“Look,” Kate starts, taking a step towards Stiles. “You’re Derek’s friend, right? Do you think he’s happy? Knowing that his friend hates me?”

“I’m not just _his_ friend,” Stiles says firmly. “and I don’t like that he’s unhappy. But I’m not going to lie when I _know_ you were involved.”

“Can you prove it?” Kate asks. Her voice is dangerous.

Derek is watching Kate closely. Stiles notices the boy glance at Kate, eyes widening a fraction. _She has something in her hand_ , Stiles thinks. He’d already expected her to be armed but he’s relieved that Derek at least looks surprised.

“Wait-,” Derek starts, reaching towards Kate.

For a moment, when she looks back at him, her face is contorted with the same anger and disgust she’s been looking at Stiles with. Derek takes a step back. Stiles feels a stab of triumph.

“Hey,” Kate says quietly, turning her back on Stiles. “He’s not going to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Derek whispers fiercely, glancing over her shoulder at Stiles.

“Then leave,” Kate says simply.

Derek is about to answer when he tilts his head. He glances at the door, looking back to Kate.

“The sheriff’s home,” Derek says quickly. He’s relieved.

When Kate leads the way out, Derek’s last image is of Stiles’ disappointed face.

 

* * *

 

The letter shows up at Derek’s house the next day.

“From Stiles?” Laura asks, peeking over their father’s shoulder.

“It is,” the man murmurs, brow furrowed as he reads.

“What’s it say?” Derek asks, heart pounding.

“He apologized for being suspicious of Kate,” his father says. “He says something about ‘bridging the gap’.”

Derek swallows hard.

“Huh,” Laura murmurs. “Doesn’t sound like him.”

“His mother used to say that,” Derek’s mother says, touching her husband on the shoulder briefly.

Derek leaves the kitchen table.

 

* * *

 

Derek feels bad about Stiles. He wonders what the letter is about, if maybe Stiles had done it to protect himself.

For the first time, he feels angry at Kate.

“ _Derek. Let’s meet tonight,_ ” she says over the phone when she calls.

“Yeah. I think we need to,” Derek says calmly.

The line is silent for a minute and then Kate laughs brightly.

“ _So serious. All right. Let’s meet at my apartment. It’s far enough from both of our families._ ”

Derek agrees, thinking that maybe he should stop by Stiles’ house first. He debates, wondering if it will do any good, but he decides to go anyways. _We were friends once._

When Derek arrives, he has the distinct feeling that something is wrong. He knocks on the door, waiting.

The sheriff answers.

“Sir,” Derek blurts, suddenly nervous.

The sheriff doesn’t look too much like Stiles. He has sandy blonde hair and light green eyes. He seems to have the same mannerisms, though. He looks at Derek with a mix of guardedness and curiosity.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m a friend,” Derek starts but he pauses, unsure. “Is Stiles here?”

The sheriff seems to realize something and he looks away for a minute, sighing quietly.

“He’s hurt, son.”

“Hurt?” The word echoes in Derek’s ears.

“He won’t tell me what happened,” the sheriff says. He sounds distant. “I think someone beat him up.”

Derek stands in shock, head spinning with questions. _Was it Kate?_ He can’t believe what he’s thinking. He feels like he’s betraying her.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything, would you?”

Derek swallows, shaking his head.

“No. I don’t know,” Derek manages, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

 

John leaves an hour after Derek shows up. Stiles watches his father go, turning away from the window to look at his face in the mirror. There are bruises on his face, angry colors blossoming across his cheekbone and under his eye.

He bites his lip and tries not to cry.

Scott is his friend. Scott doesn’t know about Stiles’ mom, though. He doesn’t know like Stiles’ father doesn’t know. Derek, though, knew.

His mother was a witch.

She knew how to use crystals and herbs, how to make wards around a house, how to poison or heal the supernatural. She taught Stiles, in her writing and when she was alive.

_We can bridge the gap,_ she had said. _Learn how to protect, Stiles. Not just humans but the others, too. Everyone needs protection sometimes._

Derek was Stiles’ friend. It hurts him to think that Derek would bring Kate to his house. It hurts him more to think that Derek would trust Kate over Stiles.

He understands, though.

He doesn’t call Derek. He doesn’t call the Argents, either. Instead, he calls Laura and jumps on his bike, pedaling towards the Hales’ house.

 

* * *

 

Derek shows up at Kate’s apartment at eight. He waits, watching the night darken. It’s late fall and the sky is black already.

When he knocks on the door, no one answers. Derek shifts his weight on his feet, sighing. _I have to tell her what she did was wrong. Even if she didn’t hurt him, we should never have gone to his house. He didn’t trust her and I brought her there._

Derek waits. When Kate doesn’t answer, he gets worried. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolling down his contacts.

He waits.

Her answering service picks up. It starts and he frowns. It’s different.

“ _Sorry, I’m not at the phone right now. I have something to take care of. Try again later!_ ”

He hangs up, sighing. As he stands at her door, he absentmindedly plays the message in his mind.

_I have something to take care of._

“No,” Derek says slowly, looking up at the closed door. “ _No._ ”

He sprints to his car faster than he’s ever run before.

 

* * *

 

Laura and Cora are waiting for Stiles halfway to the house. He jumps into the truck, tossing his bike in without a second thought.

“What’s wrong?” Cora demands immediately.

Stiles breathes hard, worried.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Laura gasps, eyes wide as she looks at Stiles’ face.

“Kate,” Stiles says.

Laura’s lips tighten into a thin line and she floors it, driving towards the house.

“I’m going to kill her,” Cora says, deathly quiet.

“Get in line,” Laura snarls, taking a curve at high speed.

“I think she sent the Hunters,” Stiles manages, finally catching his breath. “and I think she’s going to try something else tonight.”

“Why tonight?” Laura asks.

Stiles bites his lip, glancing out the window. He doesn’t want to say anything.

“Derek went to meet her,” Cora mutters.

“He _what_?” Laura growls.

“You _know_ they were meeting up,” Cora grinds out.

“I didn’t think-,” Laura tries. Stiles shakes his head.

“I don’t think he knows. She’s just getting him away, though. I’m not sure why.”

The car is silent as they get closer. Stiles can see faint wisps of smoke rising in the distance. Cora whimpers in her seat and Laura grips the steering wheel tighter.

“I need you to trust me,” Stiles says.

 

* * *

 

Derek drives faster than he ever has before. He tries calling his parents. They don’t answer and he curses, pounding his steering wheel as his heart beats faster.

_I did this. **I** did this._

 

* * *

 

Stiles sees the anguished looks on Laura and Cora’s faces as they watch their home burn.

“ _Go_!” Stiles yells at them. “ _Find her!_ ”

The girls run into the forest, splitting into opposite directions. Stiles faces the house, heart beating rapidly. _I don’t have much time_ , he thinks, reaching into the truck to pull out his metal bat.

There’s mountain ash and wolfsbane spread around the house. Stiles breaks the perimeter, clearing the ash from the windows and front door. The door itself is chained, thick metal locked in place. _Damn it_ , Stiles thinks to himself.

He reels back, bat in hand, and breaks a window.

The glass shatters, heat and force breaking it from the pane. Stiles breaks the wood cross easily, jumping through the mess. The rag over his mouth and nose will only do so much, he knows, even soaked in water. He has little time and little energy to expend.

There are people in the living room.

“ _Go! The window!_ ” Stiles yells, voice muffled.

Frightened faces pass him by. He sees a few uncles and cousins, the adults looking grateful as they usher their children out. Someone stops him. He doesn’t remember who it is later, too caught up in the action.

“They’re trapped!” the person coughs. Stiles nods affirmatively, shoving them towards the window.

The smoke gets thicker.

He knows there are tools under the sink. When he runs into the kitchen, he crouches, eyes watering. It’s a bit easier to breathe, to see near the floor. When he opens the cabinets he sees a wrench and a screwdriver. He shoves them into his pocket, sprinting.

Stiles can hear voices and screams from downstairs. _Basement,_ he realizes, horrified. _They’re trapped._

The basement door is chained.

Stiles looks, despairing. The smoke is burning his lungs already and he knows there isn’t much time. He thinks Kate must have thrown something into the basement; there’s smoke issuing from under the door.

The basement doors are chained together. Stiles knows he can’t cut the metal so he tries to knock the door handles off, beating with his bat. They jiggle and dent.

“ _Come on!_ ” he screams, desperate. It’s stupid to scream, he knows. He doesn’t care.

When he swings, he channels his anger and despair into the bat. _I couldn’t save my mom. I can’t let them die, too._

The handles break, falling to the floor with a heavy _clink._ Stiles kicks the doors open, reeling to the side to avoid the sudden burst of smoke and heat. He wants nothing more than to run down but he waits, running back to the kitchen as smoke vents. There are water bottles in the pantry. He frantically opens one, tilting his head to pour some over his makeshift mask. The rest he empties over his head, hoping it’s not a stupid idea.

The smoke has only dissipated a little. He ignores it, crouching as he barrels down the stairs.

“-what,” someone coughs near the bottom of the stairs.

Stiles reaches out, his hand landing on a shoulder.

“ _Go_!” Stiles yells. He pushes more and more people, eyes stinging with tears.

He sees Derek’s parents directing people out. Derek’s father looks him in the eye.

In the span of a second, Stiles can see pride and love and worry flash through the man’s eyes.

He doesn’t have time to think about it, though, because he can feel his lungs struggling and suddenly the Hales are pushing him up and out.

“That’s it!” Talia yells. She pulls Stiles along and he obeys, head swimming.

Everything is hot and Stiles climbs out of the window, following the others as they gather on the lawn. He can already see tear-streaked faces, children watching the fire as their parents cough with them, hugging and fierce.

“Stiles,” Cora is saying but he can barely hear her, ears ringing.

“…s help,” Laura’s voice floats into existence. In the distance there are sirens.

Stiles blinks and suddenly he’s on his back, blinking as Derek’s parents lean over him. Talia is saying something and he thinks there are tears in her eyes.

“…fine,” Stiles tries to say. _I’m fine. They’re fine._ He realizes something then and he tries to speak again, urgent. “My da…dad.”

“Shh…sh….it’s okay,” Talia whispers.

Stiles nods and coughs. He feels his lungs tight in his chest and he tries to slow his breathing, closing his eyes for a moment.

He means to open them again, but he doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

The scene is a nightmare.

Derek is numb when he climbs out of his car.

The house is almost gone, charred black as the firefighters stream water onto it. There are police everywhere and Derek thinks distantly that Stiles’ father is probably somewhere amongst them.

As he gets closer he sees, impossibly, that his family is scattered across the lawn. Some are congregated around ambulances, others huddled together with bottles of water. It’s a disaster zone.

“Derek,” a voice makes him turn.

_Slap._

Laura stares up at him, eyes filled with tears. She is shaking her head and Derek notices that she is relatively untouched. As if she was never in the house.

“Derek,” his father sighs, pulling him closer. Even as they hug Derek sees Laura’s face over his father’s shoulder, covered in tears and betrayed.

_It’s my fault,_ he thinks.

In the distance Derek hears his mother talking to an officer. It feels almost as if time slows as he looks into the cruiser.

He can see the edge of Kate’s blond hair in the car.

Unthinkingly, he starts to walk over to the car. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do but he goes anyways, breath hitching in anger and something else.

“Derek,” Cora calls, walking faster to catch up with him.

Kate turns in her seat, eyes lighting on Derek.

He sees her eyes widen and then- _and then_.

She smiles, the same smile she always used to give him. Except now he sees it for what it is, sees the malice and the cunning and the pride.

He hears his own voice as if it’s somewhere else, distant and full of pain and anger. He roars, a primal noise that rips itself from his chest. His heart.

Cora is holding him back. Laura helps pull him away and he can barely struggle. There are deputies watching, eyes sad as they see the boy who almost lost everything.

_I let her in._

 

* * *

 

“He ran in,” Cora says quietly.

Derek is waiting outside the room with her. Laura is inside, talking to Stiles.

After the report, after his family went through the process of giving their testimony, his mother had told him that Stiles had been the one to warn Laura and Cora.

Derek hadn’t spoken.

His parents had talked to the Sheriff.

“ _John’s a good man,_ ” Talia had said, fingers twined with her husband’s. “ _Claudia loved him._ ”

“ _We told him Stiles was visiting Cora. He understands._ ”

It was a lie, Derek knew. One that Stiles had probably planned on.

Derek and Cora both look up as Laura leaves the hospital room. Derek catches a brief glimpse of the boy in bed, his back to the door.

“Go in,” Laura tells her sister softly.

Derek rises, hesitant. Laura shoots him a look.

“They should talk,” Cora submits, glancing at her sister.

“Sure,” Laura says. She doesn’t sound convinced.

Derek follows his sister in. He almost stops breathing at the sight inside.

Stiles looks pale. He’s wearing an oxygen mask, he thinks. _Smoke inhalation,_ he realizes numbly. When the boy turns to look at Cora, his eyes are bright. They falter on Derek.

“Hey,” Stiles says to Cora, reaching out his hand. She takes it immediately.

“You’re stupid,” Cora says. It sounds like she’s said it before.

Stiles smiles and his mask moves.

“You’re mean.”

They’re quiet for a minute and Derek hesitantly steps forward. He wants to speak but Cora continues.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“You saved us,” Cora whispers. Her words are fierce.

_Once you have her,_ Derek thinks, _you have her for life._ Somehow, he knows Cora will never forget.

Cora glances at her brother and squeezes Stiles’ hand, tapping his mask with a finger.

“Get better.”

He nods in agreement and she moves back, giving Derek a firm look before she leaves. _Make this right._

The room is quiet.

“Stiles,” Derek tries but his voice breaks, stumbling. He blinks. There are tears in his eyes.

“Derek,” Stiles says, hesitant. “I’m sorry-,”

“ _You’re_ sorry,” Derek says, incredulous. His hands involuntarily fly to his mouth, covering it as he tries to keep his sobs in his throat. “I- this is _my_ fault.”

“No,” Stiles says firmly. “ _No_. _Not your fault._ ”

“It is,” Derek whispers. He wants to hug Stiles, wants to apologize a thousand times.

“It’s her fault,” Stiles says, pulling his mask to the side. Derek almost protests but Stiles glares at him. “You have a _heart_ , Derek. _Don’t_ apologize for that.”

Derek can’t hold back his tears.

 

* * *

 

“Come on,” Talia coaxes Stiles. She’s smiling.

Stiles grumbles but he can’t hold back his grin as she leads him into the dining room.

“ _Happy Birthday!_ ”

Stiles laughs, letting himself get pulled in by the Pack.

It’s only been two months since the fire. He’s closer than ever to Cora and Laura and the rest of the Pack have quickly taken to him, too. They invite him to _everything_ and he finds himself having more fun than he’s ever had in his life.

The house is rebuilt, protected this time by new charms and wards Stiles placed himself. He had felt warm doing it, feeling the silver threads left by his mother’s work. _Bridge the gap, mom,_ Stiles had thought to himself.

“Come on, birthday boy!” Laura cheers, steering him towards the head of the table.

Stiles laughs and obliges, posing for the obligatory photo. He can see Derek standing by his sisters, grinning.

It’s a new development, Derek’s smile. Stiles likes it a lot.

Scott is also there, his friend cheerfully unaware that he’s surrounded by werewolves. The Hales get a kick out of teasing him, pretending that they’re not-serious-serious about being werewolves. It’s like a running joke and Scott thinks it’s awesome.

They’re a family now, Stiles thinks. His father trusts them, knows them by name. Sometimes Stiles pretends to be exasperated when Talia sends the sheriff donuts at work. She smiles at him anyways. _Let the man live a little, Stiles._ Her eyes twinkle when she talks, fond and loving despite her usual seriousness.

The party passes in a blur and eventually the kids move outside, running and playing as the adults chat on the porch, laughing.

As night falls, Stiles manages to break away from the giant game of hide and seek, resting on the porch. He’s better now but he runs out of breath a bit fast.

Derek sits by Stiles, Cora laughing as she finds her brother and sends him off.

“Feeling okay?” Derek asks quietly.

“Better than okay,” Stiles says, grinning.

Derek smiles and Stiles wants him to keep smiling forever.

“Good.”


	2. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a summer away from Beacon Hills, the Hale Pack return home. Derek isn't sure what it means when home only feels like home with a certain someone around.

Derek can’t breathe.

He wakes at six in the morning, the movement of the car jolting him awake. In the driver’s seat, Laura glances over at him.

“Hey. We’re in city limits,” she says by way of greeting.

It’s been a whole summer and Derek feels a missing spot in his chest, constant and biting. He’s not sure when he starting missing Stiles, or really why. All he knows is that life as a Pack has felt _incomplete_ in the worst way since they left Beacon Hills.

_“It’s just a summer,”_ Talia had said. _“We’ll be back soon. We just need to sort things out.”_

By sort, she had meant renegotiate. After Kate’s betrayal, the whole community of Hunters and werewolves had been in the midst of reviewing both their codes and their treaties. At least that’s what he’d told Stiles, before they left.

_“Okay,”_ Stiles had said quietly. He hadn’t looked happy.

_“We’ll be back soon,”_ Derek repeated but the words were empty. He didn’t want to leave.

More than anything, he hadn’t wanted to leave since he’d found out Stiles’ mother was dead.

He’d been stared at when he asked about Claudia. Laura had given him an _are you stupid_ look and she’d told him. He hadn’t known what to say.

All it meant was that Stiles was alone. He may have had Scott, Derek knew, but the Sheriff was busy most of the day. Stiles would be alone without the Pack.

“You’ll have time to see him tomorrow,” Laura says, bringing Derek back to the present. “Stiles.”

Derek shifts in his seat, still uncomfortable to talk about it.

“Yeah. I’m not in a hurry.”

Laura casts him a sidelong glance. He sees her eyebrow cock.

“Mmmn. Well, I am. I missed him,” she says, smiling faintly. No doubt remembering one of Stiles’ many antics.

Derek wishes he could say it, too.

He falls in an out of consciousness as they approach the house. His eyes are heavy and it’s four in the morning. The caravan of cars wheels up to the house and Derek sighs, opening his car door. As soon as he does, he freezes, one foot on the ground. He sees the rest of the Pack stop moving, too.

Derek sniffs the air and gets a wave of _honey citrus smoke vanilla STILES_ and then he’s running, a grin threatening to split his face.

“Stiles!” he hears Talia yell from her car. She sounds happy. He can _feel_ the threads of joy vibrating in the Pack’s bonds.

There he is.

Standing on the porch, bright red hoodie pulled over his head as he breathes out cold clouds in the night. His eyes are sunny gold and his lips curve into a smile.

“Stiles,” Derek laughs on the exhale, grabbing the body before him as he pulls Stiles close.

There are thinner arms suddenly at Derek’s back and he notices vaguely that there is new strength in them, holding Derek tight.

“Hey, Sourwolf,” Stiles laughs. Even his voice is different. Not really deeper, Derek thinks. Just…different. Somehow.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks, stepping back for a moment. His eyes are hungry, roving Stiles for anything he needs to ask about.

“Thought I’d welcome you all home,” Stiles grins, rocking on his heels. _Always in motion._

“Stiles!” Laura cheers, approaching from the stairs. She gives him a messy kiss on the forehead and he laughs.

As Derek watches, he notices the ebb and flow of the Pack as they all come up to give their greetings. Derek knows what it is- it’s the inclusion, the marking of a Pack member. They touch and smile and their bonds positively _hum_ , the ambient emotion like an audible sound. It’s a bright note.

“You all had a long drive,” Stiles finally says, cutting the mild chatter of the family. “The house is ready for you.”

They’re all quiet and then Talia steps forward, her hand resting on the side of Stiles’ face. Derek wants so badly to be the one touching him, remembering the way Stiles’ skin had felt against his cheek as they hugged.

“Thank you,” Talia says quietly, bringing his forehead to her lips.

Derek can see the amount of love and respect in Stiles’ eyes and the note gets louder, clear and triumphant and _right._

When the Pack get inside there are cheers and exhausted sighs. Stiles made hot chocolate and the living room is cleared, a thick nest of pillows and blankets piled in the center. Derek watches his family sink into the house, the territory and earth welcoming them back into a space made just for them. Where they belong.

Stiles is about to leave and Talia sends him a look. _You know what to do._

“Come on,” Derek murmurs, grabbing Stiles’ hand. He looks confused for a second, tilting his head as he’s led to the living room.

“I-,”

“You’re staying with me,” Derek grumbles, dropping onto a particularly comfy-looking blue pillow.

Stiles squeaks when he falls, face flushed red as he scoots to get comfy next to Derek.

“If you strangle me in my sleep ‘cause you think I’m a teddy bear, I’ll haunt you from beyond the grave,” Stiles threatens but it’s all a front because Derek can hear his heartbeat thumping.

Derek smiles into his pillow, eyes already closed with exhaustion.

“You don’t have enough hair to be a teddy bear,” Derek reminds him, bumping Stiles’ nearly-shaved head with his nose. He wishes he could bury himself in Stiles, is already sure he’s drunk on his scent.

“Go to sleep, Sourwolf,” Stiles replies, trying to sound angry. Derek can hear the smile in his voice.

“I am,” he murmurs and as he’s falling asleep he realizes with a grin that Stiles hasn’t let go of his hand.

 

* * *

 

“Derek, _stop_ ,” Stiles laughs, breathless as he tries to squirm out of the werewolf’s grip.

Derek growls playfully and tightens his arms, swinging Stiles in a circle. Stiles is lost in the moment, kicking his legs fruitlessly as tears of laughter spill down his cheeks.

“Careful!” Laura calls from her chair. She’s artfully sprawled, tanning in the afternoon sun.

Derek swings closer to the lake and Stiles shakes his head, stomach sore from laughing.

“Do _not_ even try it, Sourwolf-!”

“Try?” Derek laughs in his ear.

For a brief second, Stiles becomes all too aware of the rumble of Derek’s broad chest pressed against his back. He can feel the dense muscle of Derek’s arms, the rough palms and warm skin heated like a furnace.

All he wants is to press himself back into Derek, let himself be absorbed by the warmth he feels.

Instead, he blinks and suddenly finds himself flying into the clear depths of the lake.

When he breaks the surface, laughing, Stiles shakes water from his head and blinks the rivers away. Derek grins, face half hidden in the water as he looks at Stiles with sneaky eyes.

“You’re gonna pay,” Stiles teases, spitting water as he stays afloat. Derek’s eyes hold a silent challenge.

_Try me._

Stiles jumps after him, laughing as they try and duck each other into the water.

It’s the end of summer, the Hales are back and Stiles feels _at home_. He also feels, more than ever, that he wants to be around Derek. Always.

It’s troubling, since Derek is five years older. He’s already twenty, Stiles knows, taking classes online while learning his diplomatic place in the Pack. By contrast, Stiles is a freshman, a kid, a nerd who’s all long limbs and pale skin.

He doesn’t have a chance.

“First one out gets the first burger!” Derek’s father yells from the shore.

“Cai!” Talia admonishes, laughing. “I’d prefer they _not_ drown each other for a burger.”

Stiles laughs, watching them interact. Talia is like Derek, he thinks. Born wolf, strong, independent. Caius, by contrast, is a bitten wolf. He’s cheerful and friendly and vocal. _I guess I like him because he’s a way cooler version of me,_ Stiles thinks.

“Guess I’m getting the first burger,” Derek laughs, waving his arms under the water.

“Like hell,” Stiles smiles, all teeth.

They take off quickly and Stiles knows Derek is falling behind on purpose, growling and laughing as Stiles splashes towards shore.

“I’m faster now!” Stiles yells, laughing.

“Not fast enough,” Derek says, voice right in Stiles’ ear.

Stiles flails a little, trying to ignore Laura’s booming guffaw as she watches her brother grab Stiles by the shoulder.

“This fight isn’t fair!” Stiles yells, still laughing as he tries to squirm away. They’re treading water, quickly coming up to shore.

Stiles smiles, glancing over his shoulder at Derek. For a second, Derek’s eyes illuminate with realization and then Stiles jerks forward, starting to sprint.

Derek’s still holding Stiles by his shirt and Stiles thinks that maybe the man was trying to slow him down. It doesn’t work, though, because Stiles buys his shirts discount at the cheapest places he can.

It tears with a resounding _riiiiip_ and Laura’s bent over her chair, gasping for breath as she cries laughing. In the distance, Stiles can see Talia shaking her head. Caius is giving him a thumbs-up, burger already sitting on a paper plate.

Stiles turns, smile wide as he prepares to tease Derek.

“How ‘bout that, Mr. Sourwolf?!” he shouts, jogging backwards.

Derek doesn’t reply.

Stiles slows down, smile faltering.

Derek’s eyes have a sheen of werewolf color over them and they’re fixed straight ahead, where Stiles was just standing. His hand is gripping the torn fabric in his hand and Stiles can see the tip of his claws just poking out.

Behind him, Talia gasps.

_Oh, no,_ Stiles realizes.

“What is that?” Derek asks, deathly quiet. Stiles swallows hard.

There are bruises on his back. Fist-sized. Knee-sized. Elbow-sized. Blue-green-yellow-purple bruises that decorate his pale skin like sickly flowers. He knows there are a few healing cuts, too. Not bad enough that he didn’t want to swim, but bad enough.

“I…,” he starts, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. _I’m talking to werewolves. I can’t lie._

Derek storms up the shore, standing in front of Stiles, eyes fluctuating between hazel-green and unnatural mirrors.

“ _What is it_.”

“Stiles, did someone hurt you?” Talia asks, suddenly at their side. Her face is serious.

“It was an accident,” Stiles starts.

Derek makes a low, growling noise and Talia looks suddenly horrified.

“What was an accident, honey? Who did this? Was it…”

“No! No, no, it wasn’t my dad,” Stiles babbles, realizing what it sounds like. “God, no.”

“Who, then?” Derek asks.

Stiles rubs his arm, glancing away for a second.

“I didn’t want to worry you. They were only passing through,” Stiles begins.

“Wolves,” Talia says shortly. He can see the anger flare in her eyes, can tell she’s ready for blood as she turns to walk to her husband.

Stiles follows quickly on her heels, anxious. Laura is already at the table next to Cora, watching and listening.

“They were passing through,” Stiles repeats. “I knew when they got here. The wards told me. Scott and I were in the woods and I knew it wasn’t safe but we couldn’t get out fast enough.”

“Scott was with you?” Caius asks. There’s an unspoken question in his eyes.

“He knows,” Stiles breathes, chest tight. “I didn’t tell him about you but he knows. They tried to attack us and I had to protect him.”

Talia is watching him with keen eyes. Stiles swallows, trying not to feel like a traitor. _Will they even trust me anymore?_

“What happened,” Talia asks.

“They attacked us in the woods. I told them that they needed to leave. That the territory was claimed. They asked where you were. I told them you wouldn’t waste your time on them. There were only two, so I was able to keep them off Scott long enough to get the message through. They left.”

Talia is quiet for a moment, exchanging a look with Caius.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Derek growls. “Stiles, you could have been _hurt_. You should have called us.”

His heart beats painfully and Stiles thinks _he cares_ before stopping himself.

“You were a whole state away,” Stiles points out, ignoring answering Derek’s growl.

“He’s right,” Caius tells Derek, casting a significant look at his son. “We couldn’t have done anything.”

“Still. You should have told us,” Talia says softly, tilting Stile’s chin up with her hand.

_She’s a mom,_ Stiles thinks to himself. _She’s an Alpha and a leader but she’s also a mother. And I love her like one._ He smiles shakily, nods.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I just didn’t want you to worry. Think that you couldn’t leave me alone.”

“Oh, honey,” Talia laughs softly, pulling him into a hug. “We know you’re strong.”

The argument passes then and the day moves on, the quiet, tight-knit unit enjoying a day at the lake. Derek, though, is quieter. Stiles hopes it doesn’t last.

When they finish eating, Derek tugs at the torn shirt Stiles is wearing.

“You don’t need to hide it,” he says quietly.

“My back isn’t exactly pretty right now,” Stiles jokes, trying to cheer him up.

Derek shakes his head but his expression is softer, no longer pinched with anger and sadness.

“You protected our home. You don’t have to hide that.”

If Derek hears the way Stiles’ heart skips a beat, he doesn’t say anything.

 

* * *

 

“…you know, I kind of figured,” Scott says, leaning his cheek against his open palm.

Talia exchanges a look with Caius.

“Was it Derek’s growling? Because I think it was Derek’s growling,” Stiles volunteers, grinning.

“A little,” Scott smiles, humoring his friend. He looks over at Derek, eyes searching.

Derek wants to say _I don’t growl_ but he knows it’s not true. Instead, he leans back in his seat and talks to Scott instead.

“Now you know.”

“I’m grateful that you’re willing to keep our secret,” Talia adds, smiling.

Derek thinks his mother has always been fond of Scott. It may be because he’s Stiles’ friend. It may also be because Scott is just a very good person.

“Aw, Scotty- you’re part of the family now,” Stiles gushes, squeezing his friend.

Derek squashes the growl rising in his chest at the sight. He does _not_ feel possessive over Stiles.

Just like he doesn’t growl.

 

* * *

 

“You complete _potato_!” Stiles yells angrily, hitting Derek with all the force his angry fifteen-year-old frame can muster.

It’s not much, but it’s enough.

“Potato?” Derek echoes.

“You told Scott _what_?! That he would never be _right_ for it?! You _ass_! _HOLE_!” Stiles screams, swinging with already-bruised knuckles. He punctuates each sentence with a punch.

Derek catches his swinging arms, grip strong but not forceful. Stiles struggles angrily, hating the tears in his eyes. He hates feeling like this, hates it when Derek does something _problematic_ because he’s not thinking straight.

_Sometimes I don’t know what his problem is._

“Stiles, he’s fifteen,” Derek says firmly. He looks like he does when he’s talking to Cora. It’s the familiar _I-am-older-and-wiser_ face that Stiles has come to despise.

“So what, he’s not capable of thinking things through? _God_ , you can be such an _asshole_ sometimes, Derek!”

Laura appears suddenly, emerging from the house with a concerned look.

“What’s going on?”

Derek looks at a loss for words and Stiles seizes the opportunity, not caring that he’s about to bring hell down on Derek. _I love him, but he can be an idiot sometimes._

“Derek told Scott that he could never be a werewolf,” Stiles bites out. His voice is uneven with anger and tears.

Laura looks sharply at her brother.

“Derek.”

It’s one word, a name- but it holds so much disapproval and disappointment that it makes Derek step back, feeling the small amount of power his sister holds over him as the eldest.

“He was asking about the bite, Laura,” Derek says shortly. “He’s _fifteen_.”

“It’s not your place to decide,” Laura reminds him. “Besides which, _our_ human members have the choice, too. You _know_ that.”

Derek is quiet for a moment and Stiles shakes his head, wiping away his angry tears with his hands.

“I’m not saying you should say yes,” Stiles says quietly. “But don’t you dare tell my friends they’re not good enough. _Don’t you dare._ ”

Derek has the grace to look contrite but he doesn’t get to speak because Laura steps forward, bumping her forehead to Stiles’.

“Bring him over,” she says, smiling. “If it’s what he wants, we’ll talk about it.”

“Okay,” Stiles replies, nodding.

For a second, Laura leans closer.

“Derek’s an idiot. But a lovable one. Don’t hold it against him,” she whispers quietly.

Derek can probably hear her, Stiles thinks, but it doesn’t matter because she turns to walk into the house and from Derek’s face Stiles thinks she gives him _a look_.

When Laura gets inside Derek takes an abortive step forward, hesitating.

“Maybe you’re not a potato,” Stiles mutters, giving in. “But you’re no peach, either.”

“No?” Derek jokes but his eyes are still worried. Like he thinks he’s done something unforgiveable. He grabs Stiles’ hand, bringing it to his face. “I’m fuzzy, though.”

Stiles snorts, shaking his head, but he scratches at the stubble anyways. He looks at Derek, fond and exasperated and grateful.

He’s broken bones before. He doesn’t want to break what they have.

“I’d like it if you liked my friend,” Stiles says quietly. _I wouldn’t stop being friends with Scott. But I can’t give you up, either._

Derek seems to get the message.

“I don’t hate him,” Derek says, pulling Stiles into a loose hug. “He’s just a kid. I’m used to you.”

“And I’m not a kid?”

“…you are,” Derek says but it doesn’t sound entirely truthful. Stiles thinks if he were a werewolf he’d sense the lie.

_He doesn’t think I’m a kid,_ Stiles thinks.

The thought makes him very happy.

 

* * *

 

Caius, for once, is serious.

“Tell us why you want this.”

Scott isn’t nervous, Derek notices. He seems sure, in fact. More so than he ever has before. It reminds Derek of Stiles and he wonders if the two talked beforehand.

Stiles isn’t technically allowed at the conversation- a trial, kind of. He’s waiting outside, probably destroying the kitchen as he stress-cooks. _I never knew that was a thing until Stiles,_ Derek thinks wryly for a moment before his attention turns back to Scott.

“I have asthma,” Scott starts, abrupt. He looks at Caius and Talia.

“We know,” Talia reminds him but her words are kind. Patient.

“That would change.”

“It would. But is that reason enough?”

“No,” Scott begins. “Or maybe it is. I don’t know.”

Derek’s parents exchange another look. _They’re wondering what his real reason is._

“I live with my mom,” Scott starts again. “Just us two. She works a lot- and hard. Like Stiles’ dad. They’re good parents.”

“They are,” Talia says quietly.

“They’re good parents,” Scott repeats, “but what’s out there- those werewolves we ran into- _they’re_ not good people.”

“We don’t hunt each other, Scott,” Talia says firmly. “Don’t think you can use the Bite just to get revenge.”

“Not revenge,” Scott agrees. “But our parents protect us. As much as they can. I want to help protect them, too.”

He’s completely serious. Derek feels a bit guilty. _He’s thought about this. I can’t say his reasons are wrong or bad,_ he thinks. _I can’t say anything, really,_ he realizes. _I was **born** this way_.

Caius smiles then, lacing his hand with his wife’s.

“I respect your decision, Scott. If you want this, we will do it. You still have two weeks until school. It’s not ideal, but we can certainly help you start training after the Bite.”

“Thank you,” Scott smiles. He looks relieved. Proud.

When they leave the room, Stiles is pacing around the dinner table. There’s a huge spread of tacos.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says immediately, stopping before Stiles. “I’m an idiot.”

Stiles looks up at Derek for a moment, blinking with his gold eyes. _Gold like the sun._ There’s relief and pride and a small hint of anxiety in his expression. Derek thinks Stiles knows what’s in store. He knows all the changes that will come with Scott getting the Bite.

“Yeah. But a loveable one,” Stiles smiles, flicking his nose. “Now eat, before the food gets cold.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Holy hell-,_ ” Stiles says over the phone.

Derek grips his steering wheel tighter, gritting his teeth as he hits the gas even harder.

“Stiles, _get away from him_ ,” Derek growls, trying not to imagine what’s happening.

Apparently Scott is a bit unstable. It’s his third moon and he should be fine after training and spending the other two with the Hales. According to Stiles, though, Scott is not in a good place because of his Allison turmoil.

_Allison,_ Derek thinks bitterly. _Argent._

“ _No can do, Sourwolf. Don’t worry, I can handle it-,_ ” Stiles manages and then the sound of rattling chains and a roar cut him off.

Derek growls deep in his chest, eyes glittering in the night. When he peels up to Scott’s house he jumps out swiftly, tearing the front door open before he runs up the stairs. He fully expects Stiles to be unconscious, or at least bruised and beaten.

He is therefore surprised to see Stiles perching atop Scott’s bed, watching his friend struggle against his chains.

“What-,”

“Careful. Mountain ash,” Stiles explains, pointing to the circle around the bed.

“…you trapped _yourself_?” Derek asks, incredulous.

“He needs to deal with _this_ ,” Stiles motions at Scott’s wolfed-out form. “and I’m not leaving.”

“So you protected yourself with a circle of ash,” Derek says shortly.

He’s extremely relieved and mildly disappointed in himself for losing his head. _Stiles can handle himself,_ he thinks, trying to nail the thought into his head. He doesn’t know why he keeps forgetting it.

“Well, I think he’s doing better,” Stiles says cheerfully. “Do you want to watch Netflix? I’ll break the circle for you.”

Derek huffs and shakes his head but he moves towards the bed anyways, watching as Stiles sets up the _X-Files_.

 

* * *

 

Stiles screams, loudly.

It’s muffled by the pillow over his face, though. He kicks and struggles, trying to get free.

“ _Shut him up,_ ” a savage whisper says near his head.

Stiles tries to move his head sideways, tries to get his mouth away and free so he can yell. It doesn’t work.

There are two men in his room and his bedroom window is open. _Assholes. Only **Derek** should grace that sad non-entrance._

It’s a lost cause and Stiles finds his feet tied together, wrists bound easily in front of his chest. The pillow slips away but he doesn’t have time to scream again because a gag is slipped over his open mouth, folded cloth thick against his tongue.

“ _Let’s go_ ,” the other man mutters and then Stiles is thrown over a hard shoulder.

His mind spins and he thinks quickly, jerking his foot to the side as they pass his desk. His lamp crashes to the floor, thumping hard enough that the lightbulb breaks.

The two men curse and then one says something angry and Stiles feels something hard and fast hit the back of his head with a _thump_.

His last thought before blacking out is that he hopes someone lies to his dad.

 

* * *

 

Derek growls when he sees Scott running up to the house, Allison and Chris Argent in tow.

Talia casts him a warning look but she goes out cautiously, Caius and Peter close behind. Derek shouts at his sisters to come downstairs and he runs outside, heart beating dangerously.

“What’s happening?” Talia asks, firm, feet planted as she faces the visitors.

Derek notices the Hunters don’t miss how she addresses Scott.

“Stiles is missing,” Scott says shortly. He glances at Derek when the man growls, angry.

“ _What?_ ” Derek asks lowly. Caius looks at his son, eyes flashing for a brief moment.

“Derek.” _Stand down._ The unspoken command echoes in their bond and Derek bites his tongue, skin itching with the need to _do_ something.

Chris watches the exchange, looking at Scott before he speaks.

“There are at least two intruders in town. A Hunter and a werewolf. We think they took Stiles so he wouldn’t warn us. The wards would have been set off.”

“Do we know where they are?” Talia asks.

“An abandoned motel, just outside of town,” Allison supplies. “Stiles taught me how to check his wards. I’m not as good as him, but that’s the only thing I saw in the area that was set off.”

_He taught her?_ Derek wonders. _Maybe he didn’t tell us because he knew we don’t trust them,_ Derek thinks. _But Stiles didn’t trust Kate, either. So why?_

“Thank you for coming to us,” Talia says, acknowledging Chris. “Since this is…an unusual case, we will accept your help if you wish to join the hunt.”

“I’d be glad to,” Chris says, inclining his head. “This Hunter is out of bounds.”

“Stiles is my friend,” Allison says firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Talia smiles a little at that. Derek wonders again what her relationship with Stiles is. _She says he’s her friend. But then, he’s everyone’s friend._

“Let’s go then,” Talia says, rolling her shoulders. “Cora, Laura, Caius- you three manage the perimeter. No one gets out. Peter, Derek, you’re with me.”

“We’ll follow you,” Scott submits, already jogging back to his car. “They’re not getting away.”

Talia smiles and looks at her husband. Derek thinks for a minute that maybe their bond is like the bond Stiles has with everybody. It’s strong and unbroken and sure. As he watches his parents, they shift seamlessly, bodies dissipating into a smoke that resolves itself into the solid forms of wolves.

Jet-black and howling, they run into the night.

 

* * *

 

Stiles coughs up blood, spitting the metallic liquid onto the floor. He licks his lips, breathing shallow with pain.

He’s lying in an empty room that smells like mold. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can make out the ugly print on the carpet he lies on.

_Is this a hotel?_ He wonders.

There’s a bed in the corner, stripped of sheets and dirty. He can see a broken armoire leaning against the far wall. For a moment he thinks maybe he’s been dumped somewhere, left to rot. It’s reassuring for all of five seconds before he hears voices outside the closed door.

“How long is this going to take?”

“Time doesn’t matter. You know when they come, they all come together.”

Stiles feels his heart threaten to beat faster and he calms it, counting in his mind. _They want the Pack._

The voices move away from the door and Stiles levers himself up, looking around the room for something to use. He’s lucky enough to find a nail in the corner of the room as he scoots with bound ankles. _This will take a while,_ he thinks to himself.

He knows he doesn’t have time. The Hunters _want_ the Pack to come and Stiles knows they will. Whatever the men have planned, it’s a trap that the Hales can’t avoid. Stiles thinks he can feel thin ribbons of magic in the earth and he feels his crystal and affectionately termed ‘magic bag’ heavy in his pocket.

_I can do this._

His ties are plastic, he realizes, and the nail isn’t doing much good. _Only one thing to do,_ he thinks, dreading the action. He reaches down, tightening the zip as far as it will go. It’s painful but he knows it’s a weak point. _The tighter it is, the easier it breaks,_ he recites.

There are upsides to being the sheriff’s kid.

When he jerks his legs apart, the ties strain. He inhales slowly, ignoring the sting against his ankles. He tightens the plastic again, praying it works. _I’ll be bruised tomorrow._

The ties finally snap and Stiles sighs, rising quickly to repeat the action on his wrists.

It takes four tries but he gets out of the ties, ignoring the welts as he carefully peers out of a moth-eaten curtain. There seems to be no one around.

He slips out of the room easily, sprinting to the lobby of the hotel.

“Okay,” Stiles whispers to himself. “Okay. Find the trap.”

He grabs his crystal in one hand and powder in the other. _Show me,_ he thinks, closing his eyes.

Mountain ash.

“Fuck,” Stiles curses. _A line of mountain ash. If I break it, I could get caught._

He waits at the front of the lobby for a split second, contemplating.

“Die with your boots on,” Stiles mutters, dashing from the room.

He breaks the ash, runs back towards the lobby, and is yanked by a heavy hand just as he steps inside.

“You’re in trouble, kid.”

 

* * *

 

Derek can smell Stiles. He can also smell Mountain Ash.

“They wanted to lure us,” Laura growls, glancing around the motel.

It’s a small complex, no bigger than a convenience store. There are no lights on but Derek can see figures moving in the darkness.

Talia, still a wolf, looks up at her children. _The plan doesn’t change._

“Well. It’s about time,” a man approaches, sneering. Derek knows instantly it’s the werewolf.

“We are not here to bargain,” Laura warns. “Release the boy.”

The werewolf snorts.

“You’d be a shit hostage negotiator.”

“You have once chance,” Laura says, louder. “Let him go, or we attack.”

“You can’t cross this line,” the man says slowly as if he thinks she’s stupid.

“Neither can you,” Derek says. His voice is low and dangerous. “How long will you last? Without food? Water?”

For a minute, there’s a flash of uncertainty in the man’s eyes. It’s gone quickly, though, replaced by an oily smile.

“Tell you what. I’m feeling nice today. How about we bring out our friend?”

The man makes a vague gesture and Derek immediately feels a whimper rise in his throat. He squashes it quickly, focusing on the approaching figures.

One is the Hunter. The other is Stiles.

Chris Argent steps forward, watching with cold eyes.

“You’re operating outside of the Code,” Chris informs the new man, a hand resting on his gun.

“Code,” the man says quietly. “I’m tired of that. Always the Code.”

“He’s human,” Chris reminds the man. “Hurting him does nothing for you. It makes you a monster.”

“They’re the monsters,” the man nods at Derek and his family. “If I have to hurt some kid to get to them…”

_He’s not some kid,_ Derek thinks. There’s red rising in him, staining the world.

Stiles, standing by the Hunter, lifts his head.

Derek growls when he sees the dry blood on Stiles’ forehead. There’s a bruise on his cheek.

“This is starting to sound like a _broken_ record,” Stiles quips sarcastically.

Derek blinks.

The Hunter easily shoves Stiles down from the back of his head, kneeing him in the stomach. When Stiles chokes, gasping for air, Derek snarls. Laura looks at the men with dark eyes.

“As you can see, we’re not above anything,” the Hunter says shortly. Stiles spits blood onto the ground.

“Yeah, nothing goes over your head,” Stiles giggles weakly, head rising from where he’s bent over on the concrete.

His eyes meet Derek’s for a second, sparkling with fury and mischief and vicious _triumph_.

Talia growls, the sound like approaching thunder, and Derek looks down to see the smeared line of ash on the pavement. There’s a drop of blood mingled with the broken line.

Everything explodes in a sudden flurry of movement. Talia and Caius spring forward and Derek watches them tackle the werewolf as the man roars, suddenly filled with furious intent. He’s barely concerned, focused on Stiles where he’s bent on the ground.

The Hunter grabs Stiles and Derek reels to a halt, growling furiously as a knife is pressed to Stiles’ neck.

“You don’t want to hurt him,” the Hunter says, panting as he walks backwards. He has a red spot on his face and Derek thinks Stiles may have punched the man.

“Let him go,” Derek snarls.

The man laughs darkly and before Derek can move, there’s a barely audible _snick_ and an arrow suddenly appears in the man’s neck.

Derek watches, stunned, as the man falls to his knees, eyes closing slowly. Stiles pitches forward, sighing as Derek catches him.

“Stiles, Stiles,” Derek chants, still shocked but more worried about the boy in his arms.

“M’fine,” Stiles mutters into Derek’s shirt.

Derek watches dark boots approach and he looks up to see Allison, kneeling in her dress as she plucks the arrow from the man.

“Sleeping dart,” she says simply, slipping a cap over it before placing it in her quiver.

“That’s my princess,” Stiles says quietly, turning in Derek’s arms to extend his hand.

Allison catches it easily, kneeling. She smiles and lets him rub a spot of oil off her cheek, leaning into the touch. Her eyes are bright and full of love and Derek wonders for a second how he could ever think this girl was anything like Kate.

“Only for my knight,” she replies.

Derek gets the feeling it’s a familiar exchange. When Scott approaches, flushed with exertion, he smiles at the trio.

“You want burgers, Stiles?”

“Hell yeah, Prince Charming. Allison, maybe you didn’t make a mistake with this one.”

She laughs brightly and Derek finds himself fighting a smile as he lifts Stiles, rising to his feet.

“Burgers it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with this. I knew I wanted Scott to be part of this and Allison, too. I miss the Allison/Stiles friendship we never got to see. There will be more of her in the future! Hopefully you enjoy this brief installment.


	3. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles forges the strongest bonds with unexpected people. Derek notices this in little moments.  
> The Pack think that Stiles is a witch. He is, technically. Specifically, though, he is a Spark. When an intruding Pack attacks, he is forced to use the power he's kept secret.

Derek walks in on them one hot afternoon in the middle of the summer.

Peter has always been the more vicious of the Pack, primal urges bared like bone to the California air. Derek knows Peter had been on the brink after the fire, knew the man had been one of the few trapped outside the basement.

He’d heard the screams of his family below the floors. Derek isn’t sure the man doesn’t still hear them.

On the living room floor, Stiles is hissing through his teeth as Peter’s hands move around the circumference of his arm.

Derek’s first instinct is a flare of possessiveness followed quickly by anger and worry.

“Better?” Peter murmurs. His eyes flick up to Derek, mouth twitching into a half-smirk.

_Asshole,_ Derek thinks. He tries not to blush. Peter knows exactly what he’s feeling.

“Ugh. Remind me why I hold back at lacrosse.”

“You’re magnificent,” Peter says silkily.

Derek watches as Stiles turns halfway, eyes sparkling with affection as he leans back into Peter’s legs.

“Oh, yeah.”

The exchange feels intimate and Derek wonders to himself when they ended up so close. He wonders if he’s been missing it, these moments they seem to share when no one else is around. Come to think of it, Peter is the more solitary of the Pack. He’s always on the fringes, Derek thinks. He wonders if that’s how Stiles connected with him.

A week later they’re play fighting in the woods, training as a Pack, Stiles helping out from the trees.

There’s a _crack_ that Derek can hear from a mile away and his heart plummets as he watches Stiles’ figure falling from what seems like the sky.

_All good things_ is all he can think but then there’s a blur of grey-brown and suddenly Peter is there as Stiles falls, catching the teenager with practiced arms.

Stiles blinks rapidly, cheeks flushed with the adrenaline of falling. A nervous laugh burbles up from his chest and Peter leans forward, forehead bumping against Stiles’.

“Flying is for birds.”

Stiles laughs but Derek can smell the acid edges of fear still tinging his honey-spice signature. His hands are tight on Peter’s arms but the werewolf doesn’t complain, instead pulling Stiles closer to his chest.

“Caw, caw, motherfucker,” Stiles says breathlessly, pushing himself closer into Peter’s warm chest as if he thinks he can be absorbed into the heat.

No one says anything when Peter carries Stiles all the way back to the house and Derek wonders if he’s the only one who never noticed.

_It wouldn’t be the first time._

 

* * *

 

The team comes on a Friday.

Stiles is picking Allison up because Scott has been at the Hales’ all day, training. They’re having a meeting with Allison’s father and the newest prospective pack members- Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. Chris had asked to talk to the teens first, separately, so Stiles had agreed to take Allison to the Hales’. She is, after all, with Scott. And Scott is Pack.

“Hey,” Allison says sweetly, smiling when she slings her weapons into Stiles’ backseat.

“Hey. You hungry?” Stiles asks by way of greeting.

Allison buckles her seatbelt, eyes shining in the moonlight.

“You’re making dinner?”

“You know it,” Stiles laughs, pulling out of her driveway.

“Maybe your cooking will have the power to create a truce.”

“Maybe?”

Allison laughs again and Stiles grins, eyes on the road. He loves Allison. She’s perfect because she’s sweet and kind and ready to be friends with almost anyone. She’s perfect for Scott because she’s tough, a warrior princess forged in the fire her aunt had set and her mother had helped suggest.

He’s thinking about that when the werewolf barrels into his Jeep, a dull _thump_ echoing as he turns his wheel into the skid.

His father had made him take one of the defensive driving courses deputies took. He’s glad.

Allison makes a small noise, half gasp and half cry, as they slide to a halt. Her hand, already leather-clad with an archery glove, clings to the side of the car.

“You okay?” Stiles asks, coughing. His chest hurts and he thinks maybe he bruised it against the steering wheel.

“I’m fine,” Allison breathes, eyes sharp as she looks out into the night. “They’re coming.”

Stiles unbuckles his seatbelt, ignoring the sting in his shoulder that tells him he’s going to have a nasty bruise later. He easily pulls his bat out of the backseat, watching the small pool of gold the headlights make on the street.

“Call the Pack,” Stiles murmurs quietly. He hopes their attackers can’t hear. “and get on the roof.”

Allison doesn’t argue. She knows, he thinks, exactly what Stiles’ plan is.

That’s another thing he likes about her. The warrior princess can be a strategist when she puts her head to it.

Stiles steps out into the night quietly, bat slung over his shoulder.

“Declare yourselves,” he yells, letting his voice issue from his chest with a strength he’s been practicing.

_It’s a silly line,_ he thinks. _I don’t care if Deaton says it’s customary. I’m not an emissary and it sounds silly coming out of my mouth._

There’s a dark chuckle from the woods and Stiles tenses minutely, Peter’s lessons echoing unbidden in his mind.

_“Keep your stance loose. It takes a fraction of a second to unbend your knees. That’s all they need to kill you.”_

“I am offering you a chance at peace,” Stiles continues. “You may take it and keep your life. Attack and the Hale Pack will collect their pound of flesh.”

He tries not to smile too much at the last bit. It’s his own addition.

“You think a lot of yourself,” a woman’s voice issues from the trees. It’s slow and stilted, as if she’s used to speaking in another language. A guttural one.

“I do not _think_ ,” Stiles challenges. “I _know_.”

The woman’s laughter is joined by three other voices.

_Boy to my left. Two men to my right,_ Stiles thinks. He can hear a soft creak as Allison mounts the Jeep, climbing carefully onto the hood. He smiles when he hears her stepping. She’s trying not to scratch it too much.

“You’re going to take us to them,” the woman says, stilted and low. “Little Spark.”

For a fraction of a second there’s a chill up his spine, cold steel and dread filling the pit of his stomach. _She knows what I am._

Stiles growls a word, ancient and singular. He hears Allison draw her bow behind him and then, with a _click_ of claws and the slide of metal, they’re fighting.

When Stiles fights, he is somewhere else entirely and very _there_.

_“It’s called being hyperaware,”_ he hears Derek say at the back of his mind. _“It can be dangerous. As wolves, we learn to use it to our advantage.”_

He wonders if Derek had known that Stiles can be hyperaware, too.

Allison makes swift work of the two men. They’re lurking back in the trees soon enough, arrows broken where they’ve tried to pull them from their thighs. _Aim to wound,_ Stiles thinks proudly. _Shoot to kill._

“Stiles!”

Her voice is clear like the vibration of metal and he ducks, already aware of the wolf barreling at him. He thinks it’s the woman but he’s not sure, too caught in the moment. The wolf twists with him and he has to bring his bat up as a shield, shoving the metal between searching fangs.

The wolf growls and Stiles notices it has greenish eyes.

_Time to light the fire,_ he thinks distantly.

It’s easy enough to call his Spark. In a fighting trance, all it takes is a reflexive movement, a pull met by willing energy. He tugs and his Spark is there, at his fingertips, ready to obey. It’s a fire, he thinks as he stretches out his hand. Never completely under his control. Close enough.

The wolf yelps as he hits it in the ribcage with a flat palm, heat singeing its skin as he channels the Spark. The crystal wrapped around his wrist glows brightly.

“I think you should leave,” Stiles says lowly, knowing his eyes are flickering with light.

The wolf’s eyes narrow. Its paws scrabble against his chest but he ignores the sting, the blood its claws draw only a vague sensation of warmth and wetness. He tightens his hand against the wolf’s neck, trying not to think of the way the bone feels under his fingers.

“I _will_ kill you,” Stiles murmurs, making sure to stare the wolf in the eyes.

The wolf pants, suddenly still. He lets go slowly, watching it back away, eyes still focused on him.

“They’ll be back,” Allison says as she jumps down. Stiles holds his arms out, softening the landing.

“Yes,” he agrees, checking her for superficial injuries. There’s a small flick of blood on her cheek, but he suspects it’s someone else’s. “And we’ll be ready.”

 

* * *

 

Scott is predictably worried. He spends twenty minutes murmuring and checking Allison for injuries.

Derek is…strange.

Stiles isn’t surprised when the man gets too close, disregarding personal space as he tries to keep contact without seeming too attached. Talia is the one who runs her hands over Stiles’ shirt, cursing colorfully as she checks his wounds.

“I’m fine,” Stiles says for what feels like the thirtieth time. “Just scratches.”

From the corner of his eye he can see Isaac, Erica, and Boyd watching. He’s sorry he had to drag this mess into their pseudo-trial but he’s glad he can show them that he’s not weak.

_It’s important that they know I’m not weak._

“I didn’t know you were part of this,” Boyd says quietly as he watches Cora leave to get the first aid kit.

Stiles blinks owlishly, peering up at the large teen.

“Scott’s bad at hiding stuff,” Stiles points out. “He couldn’t keep anything from me if he tried. What makes you think he could have hidden this?”

“He’s right,” Scott echoes sadly from the kitchen. Allison laughs at him, leaning in for a brief kiss.

Erica is acting oddly, Stiles thinks. She’s on the edges, watching Stiles as if he’s turned into someone else. He’s not sure what to think.

“How many were there?” Derek asks, his voice a rumble. Stiles tries not to jump.

“You’re like a cat, you know that? I’m going to get you a bell,” Stiles says with mock anger.

“And I’ll get you a leash,” Derek replies, sitting next to him on the couch.

Isaac chokes on his drink. Stiles turns, raising an eyebrow. Isaac studiously looks away.

“There were at least four,” he answers, rolling his shoulder. It’s achy. “Two men. A woman, the wolf. And a guy. Younger.”

“The woman was a wolf?” Caius asks quietly. Stiles nods.

“She talked to me first. I guess she was trying to throw us off. I knew she’d shifted, though. I heard the way the leaves crunched.”

Derek looks proud and Stiles squashes the insane amount of joy that rises in his chest.

“Anyways,” Stiles coughs, clearing his throat. “She wasn’t happy when I burned her.”

Peter laughs but it’s more of a sound than a laugh. Stiles has come to enjoy the vaguely serial-killer vibes the man gives off. It’s comforting, he thinks, in a twisted way. Comforting to know a killer would kill for you.

“Oh, _darling_. Remind me to buy you a ring.”

“Better be quick, someone else might put one on me first,” Stiles quips, smirking back.

Isaac stares between them as if he’s not sure what he’s seeing. Stiles is only a little shocked when he sees Derek hiding a grin behind his hand.

“I don’t know how to use this,” Cora suddenly says from the doorway.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t want you nursing me anyways,” Stiles jokes, grabbing the first aid kit.

“Come on,” Allison chimes as she returns to the living room. “You don’t want to clean up in the company of these insta-healers.”

“Damn straight,” Stiles says cheerfully, rising with a wince.

For a second he feels Derek’s hand brush his as if ready to hold on. He catches his breath but it’s gone in an instant, the ghost of it burning his skin.

_I have to do something about that,_ he thinks, leaving quietly.

 

* * *

 

“So which one of you is Stilinski with? Or are you in some three-way relationship I really don’t want to know about?”

Derek half-regurgitates his lemonade and fights a blush, cursing Peter mentally for looking cool and composed.

“I’m not sure even Stiles could persuade me into a relationship involving my nephew,” Peter says with mock sorrow. “Derek’s just so awfully dull.”

Isaac looks like he believes Peter and that…that, Derek just…can’t.

“He’s not _with_ anyone,” Derek growls, glaring sideways at his uncle. Peter ignores him.

_As usual._

“Uh-huh,” Isaac says, staring at Derek a minute too long.

Derek isn’t sure he wants Isaac bitten. In fact, he’s not sure he wants the kid around, period.

“Why would you let him fight?” Erica asks, suddenly at Derek’s side.

She reminds him of Allison, he thinks. Long hair and shining eyes. Except maybe she’s more vicious. More wounded.

“He can take care of himself,” Derek says. He has to remind himself of it quite a lot.

“But he’s human,” she says.

“He could die,” Boyd says and the words are what Erica wouldn’t say. What no one would say.

“He’s Pack,” Peter says lowly. All traces of humor and sarcasm have leaked out of his voice. “ _We_ will die before him.”

The three teens are quiet and Derek thinks maybe, just maybe, Peter isn’t all that bad.

 

* * *

 

“You’d better be careful,” Stiles warns Isaac, brows furrowed. “Allison never misses.”

“I’m fast,” Isaac breathes and there’s almost a smile on his face.

Derek snorts, shaking his head. _Typical. They get the Bite and they think they’re indestructible._

“You’re not immortal now,” Stiles says firmly and Derek thinks again that _he is more Pack than anyone._ “You still have to be careful.”

“I’ll heal,” Isaac points out, bouncing between his feet.

In the distance, Scott is running through their makeshift obstacle course. Allison is somewhere in the trees, taking shots with practice arrows.

“But I won’t,” Stiles says.

It’s serious and sudden and Derek feels his heart drop like lead, weighted with the sudden smell of sadness rolling from Stiles. A whine sticks in his throat.

Isaac is quiet, suddenly staring at Stiles. Derek wonders if Isaac can identify the smell. If he feels the same pull, the same need to comfort.

“…what do you mean?”

“If you die, it’s not just you that’s gone,” Stiles explains softly, leaning against the porch railing. He’s looking somewhere far away. “It’s the part of you inside everyone else. The memories that stay. Moments. You share your life with those you love. Those around you.”

Isaac is quiet and Derek wonders if Stiles has gotten through.

“It wouldn’t last,” he says instead.

Stiles stares at him and Derek, standing behind Isaac, can see the gold like remnants of the sun.

“You know that’s not true,” Stiles says quietly. He isn’t smiling, not exactly. It’s more of a grimace.

Isaac closes off and Derek can feel it in the air, can see it in the lines of the boy’s body.

“Do you want to see them?”

“No. Not if you don’t want to show them to me,” Stiles replies, leaning back against the railing.

Isaac watches Stiles, wary.

“They fade. Eventually.”

Stiles watches Isaac with an expression Derek has come to recognize as exasperated and fond. He’s often on the receiving end.

Derek’s breath catches when Stiles pulls his shirt up, sliding it easily over his neck. His mouth is dry and he blinks too fast, trying to remind himself that this is a serious situation.

Isaac shifts back an inch.

“It never really faded,” Stiles says, softly, with the detached tone of someone delving into a well of memories. “Too deep, I guess.”

The scar on his side is crescent-shaped. Derek moves closer, stopping only when he sees Stiles send him a look.

_Wait._

“What…what’s it from?” Isaac asks. Hushed.

“My mother.”

Derek chokes on air and he wants to move, wants so much to hold onto Stiles, touch him, know that he’s real and alive and _there_. He waits instead, holding onto the silent command.

“She was sick,” Stiles adds, tracing the scar. “There were others, too. A few that stayed.”

Isaac nods. He doesn’t say _I’m sorry_ and Derek thinks that maybe that’s important because Stiles’ eyes are bright and strong and suddenly Isaac is leaning closer.

A single note joins the melody of the Pack and Derek sighs quietly, taking strength from the bond.

Scott trots happily up to the house, sparing a glance at Stiles.

“Dude, it’s not that hot outside.”

“I was just showing Isaac what he has to live up to,” Stiles jokes, theatrically framing his torso with his hands.

“It’s not much,” Isaac deadpans and Stiles splutters, arguing, but the exchange is different.

Isaac isn’t closed anymore; he leans a little closer when Stiles talks, smiles a little more at his antics. Stiles pulls his shirt back on and pats Isaac on the back, watching him leave.

_Pack,_ Derek thinks and he’s following his instinct, coming up behind Stiles to pull him close. His wolf is happy when Stiles sinks back into his arms, head tilting back to look up at him.

“Did I do good, Sourwolf?”

“You did good,” Derek agrees, bumping Stiles’ forehead with his chin.

Stiles laughs at the scratch of Derek’s stubble but he leans into the touch anyways, breath soft against Derek’s neck.

“Good. I knew you liked me better without my shirt on.”

Stiles keeps laughing even after Derek rolls his eyes and smacks him on the arm.

 

* * *

 

Stiles had always known he’d have to tell them one day.

His mother had been a witch, sure. But he was more than that. He was a _Spark_.

Stiles’ magic is old. It’s been distilled by the years, humming in his blood like a chord. Deaton isn’t sure why it only appears in some people; he’d told Stiles that it sometimes skipped whole generations.

_“Sometimes the line is dead for hundreds of years, only to reappear in a distant cousin.”_

Whatever- or wherever- his Spark comes from, he knows only that it is powerful. It had been tiny when his mother taught him. Even she hadn’t known.

It grew after the fire.

 

* * *

 

**_Intruder wolf rage forest fear_ **

He wakes with a gasp, an aborted scream dying on his lips.

His breathing is heavy as he fumbles for his phone, gasping in and out. The air feels too thin and he blinks the haze of sleep away, trying to _focus_.

Derek answers on the second ring.

“ _Stiles? What’s wrong?_ ”

He sounds concerned. Not _too_ concerned, really, because Stiles has called at all hours before. It’s 3am though Stiles knows after a second that Derek can hear his shallow breathing.

“ _What is it? Are you hurt? Where are you?_ ”

Derek’s voice is suddenly all business, firm and bitter at the edges with desperation. Stiles can hear him moving, probably getting out of bed.

“Home. I’m fine,” he starts, wanting Derek to know exactly where to go. He can hear the man thumping down stairs and another voice in the distance. He wonders briefly if it’s Laura or Cora.

“ _I’m coming. Tell me what happened._ ”

“The wards,” Stiles exhales deeply, closing his eyes as he tries to get his heart under control. “I think something tried to break them. It might be the group Allison and I met on the road.”

Derek curses on the other end of the line and Stiles hears him bark an order. _Cora. It’s Cora._

“ _I’m on my way. Stay where you are and stay on the line,_ ” Derek says firmly.

Stiles nods before he realizes Derek can’t see him.

“Yeah. Der- Derek, my dad, he’s asleep, I-,”

“ _He’ll be safe. You warded the house, right? They won’t know it’s yours. We’ll have Chris keep an eye out._ ”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, shaking his head. He doesn’t know why he’s falling apart.

“ _Stiles, keep talking to me,_ ” Derek insists.

“I thought you said I talked too much.”

Short laughter, a moment of silence that fills the gap between them like cotton.

“ _You do. But I don’t talk enough._ ”

“You’re twenty-one, people can’t give you shit, your life is a mess at that age.”

“ _My life is always a mess,_ ” he says and it’s only half-serious but Stiles laughs anyways, understanding that Derek is trying to calm him down.

“It’s a good thing I like cleaning.”

“ _Yeah. It’s a good thing._ ”

Stiles breathes in and out a few times, blinking as the spots dissipate from his vision. _Now would be such a bad time to blab about how much I love him,_ Stiles thinks to himself.

Wait.

_Wait._

“ _I’m coming in,_ ” Derek says over the phone, cutting of Stiles’ train of thought.

Only not really, because epiphanies can’t be stopped. This, Stiles knows.

Downstairs, the door opens. Stiles blinks out of his reverie, suddenly very aware of his shirtlessness and the fact that his hair is getting too long, stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“Stiles.”

Derek is there, standing in the doorway, heavy breathing and threatening-to-glow eyes and Stiles exhales a sigh, suddenly wanting to melt into a puddle on his bed. Derek steps forward, arms pulling Stiles to his chest.

_What a nice shirt,_ Stiles thinks as he presses his cheek against Derek’s chest. _It’s so soft._

“They’re meeting at the house,” Derek murmurs and Stiles shivers at the voice in his ear.

“Okay,” Stiles says simply because he can’t say anything else, is so sure what will spill from his lips will be a confession.

Derek leads Stiles quietly down the stairs and as they go, Stiles feels his blanket drag behind him like a cape. He can’t help staring at the back of Derek’s head, each strand of hair seeming so very close in the night.

_Hyperaware,_ he thinks as they climb into the car.

 

* * *

 

The others are waiting when they drive up.

Derek casts a glance at Stiles, trying to exude as much comfort as he can. Stiles has been staring out the windshield in silence. _Too much silence,_ Derek thinks, because Stiles _does_ talk a lot.

“It’s okay,” Derek says lamely because it’s all he can think of. “I’m here. We’re all here.”

It must work because Stiles closes his eyes, exhaling. Derek exits the car to open the door for him, a hand at his back because he wants physical contact not only for himself but for Stiles, too.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks when they reach the porch. His icy eyes are trained on Stiles.

“Fine,” Stiles says. He nods once, as if reassuring himself. “I’m fine.”

When they get inside Derek moves to the empty sofa, guiding Stiles softly into it. He’s about to move away when he feels a loose hand on his wrist. When he looks down, Stiles looks away, chewing his lip.

Derek doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move, either.

“What happened?” Talia asks quietly.

“My wards were broken,” Stiles says. “It’s the same group that attacked me and Allison.”

Allison looks furious. Derek doesn’t even think about Kate. Instead, he sees what Stiles sees- “ _Warrior princess,” Stiles laughs, admonishing_ \- and he knows why they’re so loyal to each other.

Scott moves closer to Allison, arms crossed.

“Are we going after them?” Erica asks. It doesn’t sound like a question, though.

Stiles had told Derek a week ago about her. _“She liked me, Derek. Can you believe it?”_ He’d wanted to say yes. Yes, yes, _yes, I believe it, because I do too._

“It may not be a good idea to stray too far,” Caius suggests. “We’ve been lured into a trap before.”

“An unsuccessful trap,” Scott points out. “Even if it had worked, we still have members that could break any lines.”

“That’s not the point,” Boyd realizes and Derek knows why his father likes the kid so much. “They’re trying to get to Stiles and Allison. They don’t want to hurt _us_. They want to kill _them_.”

The realization feels like a knife, cold and deadly, and he feels himself gravitate closer to Stiles. When he looks down, he sees Stiles’ fingers grip his wrist tighter.

“Is that why you were panicking?” Derek asks, feeling his wolf snarl in fury. He wants to _hurt_.

“…I’m not afraid,” Stiles says finally, looking up from where he sits. His eyes are steady.

“We know you’re not,” Laura says. “But they’re dangerous- and they’re after you.”

“Let them come,” Stiles laughs but it’s humorless. “I have a promise to keep.”

The look he and Allison share is primal and cold and Derek feels his breath hitch for a minute, thinking _he’s magnificent_.

He wants to blame the sudden rush of pride and love (and something else) on his wolf but he knows the human side of him is triumphant, too.

Stiles can take care of himself. More than that, he can take care of the Pack.

Derek’s always known it. Now, though, the idea hits him square in the chest and he fights the physical reaction to roll back on his feet, overcome.

Caius’ eyes land on his son and with a sudden, _sure_ expression, Derek knows that his father _knows_.

“We need a plan,” Isaac says.

“We know what they want,” Allison says. “Let’s give it to them.”

“Are you sure?” Cora asks. “It’s dangerous.”

“ _We’re_ dangerous,” Stiles chuckles, rising to his feet.

Derek swallows, trying to ignore Stiles’ bare back. He tries to ignore the pale skin and dark moles like constellations. He tries, and he fails.

“Why don’t you get ready,” Talia suggests, rising from her seat. “We’ll prepare.”

Derek opens his mouth to speak but his mother looks directly at him, eyes steely.

“Derek. Come with me. Laura, find Stiles something to wear.”

He doesn’t argue. He knows better.

 

* * *

 

“We’ll go in on our own. Once we’re inside you’ll know it’s safe,” Allison starts, leaning against the end of the table where she stands.

The Pack is gathered in the dining room, circled around the table. Chris is on speakerphone.

“ _You think it’s safe?_ ” the man asks.

Stiles doesn’t have to listen hard to hear the worry and resigned acceptance in the Hunter’s voice. He knows what it must feel like. To know that the one you love is all too human, among those who are not.

Stiles doesn’t dwell. He knows it won’t do any good.

“As safe as it gets,” Stiles adds, raising his voice a little. He casts a glance at Allison. “I’ve made some quick protection charms. They won’t last but they’ll keep them at bay, at least until we can let the Pack in.”

Talia nods, once, sharp.

“Derek, my husband and I will be waiting at the perimeter. Scott and the Betas will gather at the exits. Cora and Laura will hold the house down with Peter. There are more than enough of us to storm the place if we need to.”

_Storm the keep,_ Stiles thinks. _We are a castle and the moon is king._

“ _All right,_ ” Chris says. “ _I’ll keep an eye on John. I doubt they’ll come after him but it’s better safe than sorry._ ”

“Thank you,” Stiles says, firm. He means it. He knows Chris is hesitant, careful since Kate’s attempt at murder. It means a lot to him that the man is willing to protect his father.

“ _Stay safe,_ ” Chris says.

“You too,” Allison replies, voice a little softer when she speaks.

The line goes dead and Stiles exhales, letting himself start to slip into a meditative state.

“We should-,” he starts but he never gets to finish because the woods are suddenly filled with the howling of wolves.

The howls echo, alien to his ears. They are not family. Not _Pack._

Talia growls and Caius stands, both of their eyes glowing with the wolf inside.

“They came _here_ ,” Talia snarls.

_Derek gets his anger from his mother,_ Stiles thinks distantly. _His silence from his father._

“Perfect,” Stiles breathes. He almost doesn’t notice when the eyes in the room swivel to him. “It’s our field. Our advantage.”

Derek makes a rumbling noise in his chest. Stiles doesn’t miss it, smiling when he realizes why. _Our. Pack._

“New plan,” Allison says, already advancing to the stairs. She draws an arrow fluidly, bow rising to her shoulder. “Defend and attack.”

“I _do_ love a good game of Fortress,” Peter grins, teeth bright.

Talia and Caius are already fluid, wolves moving like smoke to the front of the house. Stiles slips a hand into his pocket, reaching for the silver chain inside.

“You and me both,” he says, feeling cool metal against his palm.

The Pack knows what to do.

Allison is on the roof, he knows. Talia and Caius will be by the front door, Peter at the back. Cora and Laura will rove with Derek, assisting where needed. Scott, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac will make their way into the woods. The Betas, as they have been affectionately termed, are a new trio. They tend to stick to Scott, learning as they go.

Stiles has his own work cut out for him.

“Time to go dark,” he sings softly to himself.

There’s a bottle in his hand, dirt and leaves and other assorted forest bits in oil. It’s a wolf’s cologne, he thinks drily, and it will hide him as if he’s part of the forest. A tree among a thousand others.

When he slips out the back door there are wolves everywhere.

_I’ve never seen so many Alphas,_ he thinks. He would be shocked if he weren’t so focused on the task at hand.

A little-known fact: wolves, when fighting, are very single-minded. They are one-track, like missiles locked on target. It’s effective but dangerous. With practice and the proper magic, Stiles knows you can get past them as if invisible. _Wolf cologne and soft footsteps,_ he thinks.

He disappears into the woods, pulling at the magic in the ground. It’s like a network of invisible strings, yarn threaded between push pins like the board in his room.

When he pulls at the magic, it vibrates back at him and he can tell which push pin has been knocked sideways.

He follows the thread deeper into the woods. It’s not until he gets there that he realizes why the violation had felt so _wrong_.

Lydia is there.

His heart catches in his throat. He can see Jackson, too, unmoving where he’s slumped under a tree.

“Shit,” Stiles whispers, checking the boy’s pulse. It’s there. “Shit, shit, _shit_.”

Jackson’s side is bloody. Stiles thinks he’s been bitten but he’s not sure. All he knows is that he needs to keep him safe from himself. He slips a bag of diluted wolfsbane onto Jackson’s neck, knowing it will keep him human for a brief time if he’s been bitten. The last thing Stiles wants is an unexperienced werewolf fighting blindly.

“Stiles,” Lydia rasps and he turns, eyes wide.

“Lydia,” he breathes, heart pounding. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“Stiles, get out of here,” she tries to warn him.

Once upon a time, he’d been madly in love with her. Not too long ago, really. He still cares about her. It tugs at his stitches, knowing she cares.

“Don’t worry,” he tells her, trying to find where the blood on her face and neck has come from.

Lydia shakes her head and tries to open her mouth and he feels it before she can speak, the vibration of the yarn rattling in his bones.

She passes out before he can tell her not to worry again.

When he looks at Lydia and Jackson, bloody and potentially turned against their will, something stirs in his chest. He’s always thought his Spark was like a wolf. Dangerous and quick. He can feel the Spark responding to his emotion, tapping into the fury he feels. _They didn’t deserve this,_ he thinks. He can feel gold bleeding into the edges of his world and he doesn’t even try to stop it.

“We didn’t even have to try,” the woman says. She’s laughing.

_The one with the accent._

“I seem to remember promising you something,” Stiles says lowly.

The woman laughs, effectively ignoring him. Jackson stirs and Stiles looks over at him, suddenly sure.

“Take Lydia that way,” he points towards the house. Jackson is aware already, blinking pain away.

_He’s bitten,_ Stiles realizes with regret and anger. He can see scratches on Jackson’s cheek mending slowly.

“What-,” Jackson starts but Stiles cuts him off, adamant.

“ _Take her._ I’ll take care of the wolves,” he adds, smiling dangerously.

Jackson looks at Stiles for a minute as if he’s seeing a stranger but he stands, easily lifting Lydia into his arms. The woman in the woods laughs.

“We have business,” Stiles raises his voice. “and I don’t have time for your theatrics. So _come at me._ ”

He tries not to smile too much when the wolf lunges.

 

* * *

 

Derek has just slammed a wolf into a tree when he hears the howl in the woods.

It’s Scott.

The Pack convene at the side of the house, glowing eyes and heaving chests in the night.

“Trouble,” Derek manages, watching the intruders stream back into the forest.

Scott is emerging with the Betas. There’s someone following them.

“Jackson?” Cora gasps. “And Lydia.”

Derek feels his eyes widen and his heart beats once, painful.

“They bit them.”

His shock resonates in the bond, echoing in his family.

“The Hunters will know about this,” Allison says softly, dangerously. Derek didn’t hear her join them.

He turns, about to speak, and then he notices.

“Where’s Stiles?”

The shock turns to unease and Laura looks around, nose tilted to the sky as she tries to find the teenager.

“He used the wood mix,” Peter says quickly, tense as he runs around the house to check for him.

“Where is he?” Derek asks again, heart roaring in his ears.

There are images in his mind, unbidden, dark blood against pale skin. Gold eyes turned to the sky, blank like mirrors. He feels like crawling out of his skin.

“Derek, focus,” Caius says, suddenly there, hands on his son’s face.

Derek can barely breathe, knows only that his heart is beating too fast and his body is too warm.

“Focus,” Caius repeats and Derek can feel the edges of his father’s nails digging into his skin, grounding him for a second. “You can find him if you focus.”

He wants to ask _what?_ but then he turns, suddenly sure because he can feel a wave of _honey spice woods_ echoing towards him, reassuring.

There’s a collective gasp, an intake of breath as they watch.

Stiles emerges from the woods like he’s come _from_ them, out of the trees and the creek and the stone. Every inch of him seems like it _belongs_ there and he’s shedding the forest like it doesn’t want him to go and _Derek knows just how it feels_.

“He’s a Spark,” Talia breathes, hushed, and somehow Derek knows that it’s important but he can’t bring himself to care.

As Stiles walks, the intruding Pack backs away, growling and snapping as they’re trapped between the Hale house and the forest. Derek only wonders for a moment why they don’t rush forward and then he sees it.

Gold like fire but _so much more powerful_.

It’s blazing behind Stiles as he walks, palms turned out as if he’s walking through water. The gold blazes behind him but it doesn’t touch the trees, reaching out and flickering towards the enemy.

The fire outruns the wolves and Derek thinks for a moment that it will kill them and he wants to stop it, doesn’t want that blood on Stiles’ hands. It doesn’t kill them, though. When it reaches them, the wolves fall, twisting as they’re forced back into human bodies, weak and scattered on the ground.

Laura breathes in beside Derek and he feels her relief multiplied in their bond. The smell of foreign wolves is gone, burned away by honey and spice and the familiarity of _Stiles_.

When Stiles approaches, Derek notices the heightened gold in his eyes flickering like fireflies.

“I hope you don’t mind that I cleaned house,” he jokes quietly. He sounds too serious, as if he’s really asking permission. Asking if he can still come back.

“This is our home,” Talia says and Derek almost falls to his knees, knows they’re all crying because he can feel a rising chord in the bond.

The note has always been there, he thinks. Except now it’s brighter, joined by another note that makes it full and deep and _right._

_That’s Stiles,_ Derek thinks. _That’s Pack._

 

* * *

 

“ _Damn it_!” Stiles curses, shaking his hand as the burn sinks in.

Derek is there in under a second, growling.

“Jesus, dude, it’s a car, not a kanima,” Stiles says when Derek grabs his wrist to examine the burn.

“Heard that!” Jackson yells from the backyard, a hand sticking out from the side of the house as he flips Stiles off.

“Good!” Stiles yells back, fighting a smile.

“Be careful,” Derek says quietly, frowning at the burn as if he can scare it away.

Stiles bites his lip, trying not to laugh.

“Sorry, big guy. Kiss it better?”

He counts it as a victory when Derek ducks his head, obviously trying to hide his red face. Stiles can see the color on his ears.

He’s about to say something when Derek twists his hand around Stiles’ wrist, adjusting it as he lifts them towards his face.

Derek’s lips are soft but dry, barely there as they ghost against Stiles’ palm. It lasts only a second but he keeps Stiles’ hand, looking up from under his lashes as if he’s too scared to face Stiles.

Stiles swallows hard, blinking as his mind plays catch-up with his tingling hand. He knows his face is red. He isn’t thinking when he takes a step closer, unsure of what he’s about to do but knowing it’s _right_.

He opens his mouth and Derek sways closer and Stiles thinks _magnetic_ before they’re interrupted.

“How’s it going?” Scott calls cheerfully as he descends the stairs.

Derek drops Stiles’ hand as if burned, turning his back to them, and Stiles thinks that maybe he’ll kill Scott because he loves him and really, the poor guy has shit timing.

“Nowhere,” Stiles says with put-on cheer. He can see Derek raising his hand to his mouth out of the corner of his eye.

When the man doesn’t touch his lips, Stiles counts it as another victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More randomness. It feels like I'm writing a connected series of vignettes or something. Hopefully my chapters make sense; I try to set them up as close to a story as possible. I'm just having fun leading up to eighteen because legal age is important and I think Derek would be serious about it what with Kate and all. Besides, I think it's exasperating and more true to their characters for them to dance around each other. The dance won't last too long, though.


	4. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old blood forces the Pack to make decisions that could affect the future of their close-knit family. Stiles, meanwhile, is growing increasingly frustrated with hiding his feelings.

It’s the first full moon since the attack and Derek hasn’t seen Stiles since.

He is agitated the entire day. Laura shoots him looks over her tea, clearly unimpressed. He wants to snap at her but he knows he’s acting like a child. Like a newly turned wolf.

“Maybe you should go under already,” Cora snaps at one point, clearly fed up with his pacing.

Derek doesn’t answer, growling instead as he leaves the house to run around it for a few minutes. They don’t leave the perimeter of the house during the full moon. It’s dangerous, he knows, for wolves without control. Without anchors.

_Why am I so agitated?_ He wonders to himself. He’s never had so much trouble before.

“Derek,” his father calls from the porch.

Caius, like Talia, is in total control. The only sign that he feels the full moon is the barely-visible way his canines have grown.

Derek jogs to the front of the house, skin itching. His run isn’t doing anything to make his claws disappear, canines biting into his bottom lip.

“We need to talk.”

“Can it wait?” Derek manages to grind out. He feels like he’ll go insane if he doesn’t move.

Caius’ eyes flash and he leans over Derek on the porch, barely taller than his son but physically and hierarchically powerful.

“Now, Derek.”

Derek follows his father inside, trying to ground himself with the sting of his own claws in his palm. When they reach the basement, he feels an irrational stab of anger at the thought that he might be locked up.

“You’re being obtuse,” Talia says coldly and Derek almost jumps, startled by her sudden presence.

His mother is suddenly behind him and he has no time to act before she shoves him into a cage. It’s an unfortunate little space, reserved for the youngest wolves with the worst control. His wolf growls at the idea of being locked in such a space. Derek growls, too.

“Derek,” Caius starts, sighing. “Your anchor has shifted.”

“What?” Derek huffs, hands gripping the bars of his cell with white knuckles.

His wolf is howling and twisting inside him, telling him to _get out, get out and run, go_. The problem is, he doesn’t know where.

“What did you use to ground yourself before?” Talia asks, firm.

“Family. Home. This land.”

“That’s not an anchor, Derek,” she remonstrates, shaking her head.

“It was. After the fire,” he grudgingly admits.

His parents are silent. In the silence, his wolf pulls at him, instinct threatening to overtake his thoughts. He shakes his head, twisting his hands on the metal bars.

“You’ve been using guilt as an anchor,” Caius says shortly. He sounds as if he wants to turn back time, look at where things went wrong.

_I don’t want them to feel responsible for me,_ Derek thinks. _For what I’ve done_.

“It worked,” Derek manages, ignoring the way his parents are staring at him.

It _had_ worked. His guilt had been stronger than anything else and so he’d used it, turned it into an anchor that grounded him and his wolf.

“Guilt doesn’t last,” Talia says quietly. “and you had no reason to keep feeling guilty.”

“It was _my fault_ ,” Derek growls, shaking his head.

_Wrong,_ his wolf tells him. _Wrong._

“It doesn’t matter,” Caius says. “Guilt fades, Derek. It fades when we forgive ourselves or when others forgive us. When something else takes its place.”

“What could have taken its place?” Derek argues. “I never felt anything more powerful than that guilt.”

_Wrong,_ his wolf whispers. _Wrong._

Talia shakes her head and her eyes are sad and frustrated and loving all at once. She moves closer, fingers brushing Derek’s with the patience of a mother.

“Derek,” she whispers. “Silly, sweet, stubborn Derek. Guilt, betrayal, forgiveness. What do you think they’re like? They’re like love.”

Her smile is steady as Caius approaches, his hand moving to her shoulder. Derek can feel tears rising to his eyes, stinging and insistent. His wolf howls when it senses their touch through the bond, urging him to _run. Run._ His nails dig into his palm and he holds onto the sensation, trying to keep what little is left of his resolve.

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head as his mother blurs before him. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Caius says, reassuring and calm, placid among the swirling emotions in Derek’s head. “Let yourself. Let yourself love, Derek.”

“I can’t,” Derek says, shaking his head. _I’ll hurt him,_ he thinks, panicked, _I’ll hurt him and I can’t do that._

“Don’t be afraid,” Talia smiles through her tears. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Derek.”

“He can’t-,” Derek tries. Even as he speaks he can feel his wolf roaring, urging him. _Right. It’s right._

“You can’t decide for him,” Caius says softly. “Derek, Stiles already loves you.”

Derek feels the puzzle pieces fall into place, snapping with a sharp sound that echoes in his bones. He can feel his wolf breaking its chains, howling in triumph, urging him.

_Run,_ the wolf says. _Run to him. Home._

 

* * *

 

Stiles has never been able to sense Pack bonds the way the werewolves can.

He’d accepted long ago that he would never be able to share the inner connection the Pack does; he was never happy about it, but he understood. As much as he is Pack, there can be no two-way connection when he’s fundamentally human.

So when he wakes at ten from a nap, feeling some kind of foreign electricity sparkling like static on his skin, he gasps and thinks that maybe his heart will stop. It’s pounding painfully in his chest and he rolls off the couch, turning instinctively to face the windows of the house.

He knows, somehow, that Derek is in that same direction.

The feeling thrums once and Stiles can’t describe it, isn’t sure what to think of it except that it’s like music. It’s like the moment after the symphony stops playing, he thinks, because he can feel the echoes of something loud and layered and triumphant.

He grabs his red hoodie and throws it on haphazardly, already halfway into his Jeep as he pulls on the other sleeve.

_Something is wrong with Derek,_ he thinks.

It takes him five minutes to get to the house. He knows it’s the full moon and he should be staying far away but he also knows he’s not in danger. He’s Pack and wolves- no matter the moon- recognize Pack.

When he arrives, Talia and Caius are padding leisurely around the front yard. The twin wolves approach him as he leaves the Jeep, softly brushing against him in a silent welcome.

“Hey,” Stiles smiles softly, hands in his pockets as he walks.

_It feels…safe here,_ he thinks. _Quiet. Peaceful._

Laura greets Stiles on the porch. She’s leaning back in her chair, long legs stretched onto the railing. Her clawed hands are resting loosely on her legs.

“Hey, kid. It’s been a while.”

“I was grounded,” Stiles smiles, crouching to allow Laura’s wandering hand to reach his hair.

“It’s so long,” she murmurs, smiling. “No buzz anymore?”

“Never again,” Stiles agrees.

“It took two weeks to grow out,” she notices, combing her fingers through the strands.

“It grows fast,” Stiles chuckles.

When he rises she lets him go and he thinks there’s a knowing look in her eyes.

“He’s being a drama queen,” Erica says when Stiles gets inside. Cora sends her a look of agreement.

“Who, Derek?” Stiles smiles lightly.

Erica watches him quietly for a minute, her smile fading a little as she takes him in.

“He’s ungrateful,” she mutters, turning her gaze back to the magazine in her hands.

“He’s been hurt,” Stiles reminds her gently, moving on instinct.

He may not be part of the Pack’s bond but he’s found other ways to gauge their needs. He walks up behind Erica slowly, hugging her with a little more strength than usual. She’s stiff for a moment before she relaxes.

“I know,” she says lightly but there’s a healing edge of regret and sorrow in her voice.

“Don’t judge him too hard, Catwoman. Think of who he’s dealing with.”

He gives her the ground, trying to make up the difference. _I hurt her. Not on purpose, but I did._

“True,” Erica laughs and he thinks maybe she’s regaining a bit of her bite. It makes him happy.

“Go on,” Cora says, suddenly appearing to sit at Erica’s feet. She stays close, Stiles notices. In physical contact.

“Take care of her,” Stiles grins as he leaves.

“I will,” both girls chime.

The rest of the Pack are moving around the house as Stiles makes his way to the basement. He knows Derek is down there, can tell that the man is probably in a bad mood. Stiles isn’t sure what Derek did to get locked up and he’s not sure how he fits in. All he knows is that Derek tends to listen to him, so it’s his responsibility to calm the wayward wolf.

When he opens the basement door he hears a small noise, half gasp and half sigh.

“Hey, Sourwolf. I see you’re in time-out.”

Derek makes a small whining noise and _damn_ if that doesn’t tug at Stiles’ heart. He feels a bit too close, hyperaware as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He can see Derek at the bars of the cell, almost pressing himself against them as he tries to get closer.

“What’s the problem?” Stiles murmurs, tilting his head. He isn’t sure what’s wrong with Derek.

_He’s usually in control,_ he thinks. _Why is he so much more wolf right now?_

When Stiles reaches his hand out to cover Derek’s the man growls happily, rumbling deep in his chest. Stiles huffs out a laugh.

“Come on, big guy. Talk to me.”

Derek leans his forehead against the bars and Stiles pauses, finally mirroring the movement curiously. _He’s very touchy-feely today._

“I was worried,” Derek finally says, voice hoarse. He sounds like he’s been yelling. _Or howling,_ Stiles thinks.

“About what?”

“…you,” Derek murmurs. His claws are retracting, Stiles notices. He’s still pleasantly humming, though.

“Why? You know I can take care of myself.”

He’s not angry. He knows something else is going on. He just isn’t sure what.

“When they attacked…I didn’t know where you were,” Derek says quietly. “I thought-,”

“You thought you lost me,” Stiles finishes, closing his eyes.

_I’m an idiot. Of course he’s like this. I haven’t seen him since that night._

“I was- thinking about it,” Derek swallows. His canines are softening to rounded points.

“Silly,” Stiles smiles.

He’s glad for his thin arms when he reaches through the bars, easily twisting his fingers into Derek’s hair. The man rumbles happily and Stiles chuckles, thinking _maybe this could work._

“We’re fine,” Stiles says quietly, trying to pour his confidence and love into the words. He can’t feel the Pack bond but he knows Derek can. “Other than missing my birthday, I mean.”

Derek blinks and for a second Stiles wonders if he _can_ feel the Pack bond because the amount of regret and shame washing from the man is enough to make his canines drop down again.

“We did,” Derek says and _fuck_ it sounds like his voice is almost breaking and this is _not_ what Stiles wanted.

“Hey,” he says, firmly tugging Derek’s hair. He knows sometimes Derek gets lost in his own mind, needs physical contact to bring him back. “It was my idea. I told your parents not to worry.”

“Why?”

“I was grounded,” Stiles huffs, looking away for a moment. “I told my dad I went out with Scott that night the Alphas showed up. There’s been a patrol car outside the school every day for the last two weeks.”

A smile threatens to twist Derek’s lips and Stiles grins, tilting his head. He catches Derek’s gaze, wiggling his eyebrows. The man eventually gives in, letting out a small laugh as he leans his forehead against the bars.

“Your father’s a good parent.”

“Yeah. I just wish I wasn’t a bad son,” Stiles jokes, moving his hand.

Derek catches his hand before it escapes, smiling. Stiles feels his heart flutter, trying to focus on the rough palms instead of the way Derek is looking at him.

“You’re not a bad son.”

“For now. He’ll find out, someday.”

“I’ll help you then.”

Stiles smiles, rubbing a circle on Derek’s hand absentmindedly.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Much.”

“Good. ‘Cause I have the key and I don’t think you wanna sleep in there.”

Derek laughs brightly and Stiles whistles, turning the key in the lock. It opens with a silent, oiled swing. He closes it behind Derek, trying to ignore his pounding heart.

There are no bars between them now.

 

* * *

 

The Hale family are supportive of Stiles. He is Pack and they always try to show him that he is loved.

When Stiles tells them one afternoon that he may be playing in the next lacrosse game, breathless with excitement, Peter announces they’ll be attending.

Stiles protests weakly, remind them that his father will be there. Cora reminds him that she’s a student and it wouldn’t be strange for her family to accompany her to the game.

This is how the Hale Pack end up sitting on the bleachers on a Friday night.

“He’ll play, right?” Cora asks.

Derek tries not to smile. The only time her irritation disappears is when Stiles is involved.

“He will,” Peter says brightly. “Or we will make it so.”

Laura rolls her eyes, glancing at Derek.

“Please don’t make a scene. Stiles wants us to be inconspicuous, remember?”

“I wonder if he really expected that to work,” Caius notes, amused. Derek barely catches his father’s words.

“It’s starting,” Cora says suddenly and then they’re enveloped in a crowd of cheering people.

Derek notices the way Stiles is holding back.

_He’s better than this,_ Derek realizes. There are moments when Stiles hesitates, imperceptible to all but the wolves in the stands. Stiles pauses sometimes, missing a chance to shoot so that he can pass the ball to Scott or someone else.

_He’s avoiding the limelight._

Derek is oddly proud and exasperated. _He deserves to be better,_ Derek thinks to himself. He wants everyone to know that Stiles is capable of more. Somehow, though, he knows that this is important. That the way Stiles gives way to his teammates means he’s the exact definition of a team player.

Somewhere towards the end of the game there’s a collision on the field, Jackson slamming into two opponents, and then the field lights suddenly shut off and there are screams and the sounds of electrical wiring sparking in protest.

Derek is on his feet in a moment, panic spiking. He gets to the bottom of the bleachers and then, suddenly, his entire world goes dark.

The last thing he knows is heat and sensation of something heavy hitting the back of his head.

 

* * *

 

Caius is not a born wolf.

He was changed by his wife, Talia. He, after extensive training and the benefit of having a mate-bond, is a disciplined pack member.

He may be an Alpha, but he knows that it is simply a title. The true Alpha in the Hale Pack is Talia.

When the crowd erupts in fear, he sees his wife, purposeful and direct as she descends the bleacher steps. Her hair is dark as it fans behind her, shining in the moonlight. Talia is ferocious beauty, a wolf in a woman’s body, the dualistic nature of her birth lending her a supernatural grace.

_She is beyond me,_ Caius thinks. _She is more than anyone could ever hope to be, human or no. She is the height of human and wolf, imperfect and perfect._

This and more he thinks as he follows her down, sure that they are about to face something dangerous.

“Scott!” Allison is yelling. The girl is close by and Caius reaches out, steadying. She flinches for a second, tensing as if to fight, and then he speaks.

“Stay close to us,” he tells her. “something’s wrong.”

Cora steps forward to escort Allison; they only walk a few steps before Scott comes running to them, eyes sharp and worried.

“Where are the others?”

“I found Isaac,” Laura suddenly yells, her voice carrying over the crowd as she approaches.

_Where are Erica and Boyd?_ Caius wonders. _And Stiles?_

“Did you see what happened?” Talia is asking, all business as she moves the Pack to the center of the field. Away from the chaos.

“I’m not sure,” Scott pants, looking around. “I think someone cut the lights.”

Caius is standing there, watching the group recover, when he gets a feeling.

He is not psychic by any means. Whatever he is, Caius thinks that the Bite heightened his ability to empathize. Sometimes he feels emotion that are not his, outside of the bond of Pack, echoing like ripples in a pond.

Talia is at his side in a moment, sensing the change.

“What is it?”

_Tell me,_ her eyes say. _Tell me who we must find._

“My son!” a voice calls over the noise of the retreating crowd. “WHERE IS MY SON?!”

“Stiles,” Caius breathes. He advances unthinkingly, moving towards the source of the yelling. “Derek is gone, too.”

They had always known that Stiles’ father would learn the truth one day. Caius regrets that it has to be this way.

When they finally see him, John is making his way towards the Pack, still looking around the field as he advances. Peter is with the man, tense, face bloodied.

“Peter,” Caius says shortly. It’s a question.

“Someone tried to attack him,” the man says, tilting his head towards the sheriff. “Human. I think they might have been Hunters.”

“Did he see?” Talia asks lowly.

“I don’t know what you are,” John suddenly says, whirling. “but if you know what happened to my son, you _tell me_ -,”

“John,” Talia interrupts, soft but firm. Caius can sense a small amount of irritation. “We didn’t hurt your son.”

“I saw what _he_ was,” the man says and Caius knows _he’s a father, he’s worried, angry that Stiles never told him_. John’s pointing at Peter. Talia bristles.

_Here we go,_ Caius thinks. He loves his wife, but sometimes her wolf is a bit…hostile.

“Our son is missing, too,” Talia says sharply. “Along with Erica, Boyd, and Jackson. _We_ will find them.”

“I don’t-,” the man starts and Caius knows the inevitable end to the sentence, the _I don’t trust you_ hanging in the air like a cloud of smoke.

He intervenes, sensing the strain on the Pack’s bond.

“We are not asking for your implicit trust,” Caius says quietly. “You have questions that we will answer. For now, however, our priority is finding Stiles.”

He makes sure to emphasize Stiles’ name. He knows that John is a father, a single parent, and Stiles is his only family. His entire world. _If we want his trust, we have to show that we are putting him first._

Talia glances at Caius for a moment and he can sense the gratitude and abating frustration in their mate-bond.

_John may be a father,_ he thinks, _but Talia is a mother. They are both dangerous right now._

“Let’s find our children,” Talia says, half-growling. Caius nods in agreement.

“They won’t be gone for long.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles wakes as he’s being pulled down a flight of stairs. The men pulling him are burly and Stiles blinks away the pain in his head.

He remembers being on the lacrosse field. The lights going out, the sudden bodies too close to him and the blow to his head. He’s not sure what happened after that, vague sensations of being in a car floating to the surface of his aching mind.

When they get to the bottom of the stairs Stiles is shoved unceremoniously into a basement room, concrete meeting his hands as he stumbles. His palms sting but he rises, hearing the door slam behind him.

“Erica- Boyd-,” Stiles gasps, scrambling across the room as he gets his bearing.

The two werewolves are tied, gagged with duct tape as their wrists are tied with some sort of wiring coming from the ceiling. They make desperate noises, shaking their heads as he moves towards them. Erica’s eyes widen and Stiles knows what is coming, preparing himself.

_I have to seem human,_ he thinks. _They haven’t restrained me. They don’t know that I’m a Spark._

When the blow comes it hits his lower back and he cries out, stumbling onto the ground.

“Not too close,” the voice says, something like amusement and disgust mingling in the words.

_Gerard,_ Stiles realizes with shock. He’d never met the man, sure, but Allison had tolerated him. Her grandfather, she had explained, held old beliefs. But he’d been changing. _“Trying to understand,”_ Allison had said.

_Understand, my ass._

“What is this?” Stiles asks, defaulting to his sarcasm and bravado. “Some kind of kinky party? ‘Cause I’ve gotta say, you’re a bit old for me.”

“Children,” Gerard smiles, slick and dark like an oil spill. “So disobedient these days.”

The old man’s boot is surprisingly heavy when he steps on Stiles’ leg. Stiles grits his teeth against the cry in his throat, trying to twist away. Erica and Boyd make distressed noises, struggling against their bonds.

“What do you want?” Stiles asks, making his voice scared. “We’re kids, what are you, some kind of-,”

“If you say ‘monster’, you’ll lose more than consciousness,” Gerard warns, suddenly icy and deadly.

Stiles licks his lips, swallowing as he tries to gauge the man’s intentions.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to give up the Hales,” the man says mildly, smiling.

“Yeah, good luck,” Stiles laughs, forgetting to be submissive for a moment.

“I have their precious human,” Gerard says mildly. “and their son.”

The next time Stiles’ breath leaves him, it’s not because of the vicious kick Gerard lands on his stomach.

 

* * *

 

“It was Gerard,” Lydia says.

John doesn’t blink. He knows he should be shocked- and really, he is- but after seeing Jackson turn into a _werewolf,_ he’s on autopilot.

_I just want my son back._

Scott’s expression darkens. He looks ready to argue and John distantly remembers that Allison is his girlfriend- _“They’re disgustingly cute, dad, you wouldn’t believe it,”_ he hears Stiles say and then he’s blinking madly, refusing to let tears fall. He’ll cry when he gets Stiles back.

Scream, too.

“Allison hasn’t been answering her phone,” Lydia explains, firm. “She wouldn’t miss one of Scott’s games. She was there and then she wasn’t.”

“It was a long time before the attack,” Scott submits, shaking his head. “her father called her. She was worried.”

“I don’t think Chris has anything to do with this,” Talia says shortly.

_That woman is one of them,_ John thinks. He doesn’t know what to believe anymore, the knowledge that the majority of his son’s friends are werewolves overriding everything else. He wonders just what else Stiles is hiding.

“You think Gerard locked them up? Maybe sent them away on a false alarm?”

“Maybe. It’s not important right now,” Laura interjects, emerging from somewhere else in the Hale house.

John remembers the other house. The one that burned down. He remembers sitting by Stiles’ hospital bed, thinking only that his son had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now he’s not so sure.

“They’re probably at the house,” Lydia sighs. “There’s a basement level Allison says her grandfather is in charge of. It’s meant to hold werewolves, from what I know. You can’t go there.”

“We have to,” Isaac says firmly.

John wonders when these teenagers became soldiers. _That’s what they are,_ he thinks. _They’re not kids anymore; not really_.

“John,” Caius says softly.

_Caius,_ John thinks. The man is…different. He reminds the sheriff of Derek. He’s only met the Hales’ son once or twice, in passing. The young man had always seemed respectful. Quiet.

“I’m getting my son back,” John says. “He’s been kidnapped for whatever the hell reason but he’s human. He’s _my son_. This is beyond the badge.”

_Beyond the badge._ It’s an old phrase Stiles has used jokingly before. _“Hey, dad- wanna help me break some kids out of school? Beyond the badge.”_

“We could use you,” Talia suddenly says. Her dark eyes are trained on Lydia. “Lydia, you know the house. You could take John and find them. I don’t like the idea of you two going alone but at least you could find Chris and Allison. Get a better idea of what we’re up against.”

“Find the Argents,” Peter interrupts. He smiles darkly. “Find them and get them out. We’re going to burn Gerard to the ground- but I respect them enough to warn them.”

John shivers. _I don’t know who this man is,_ he thinks, _but I don’t like the idea of my son being around him._ Every word from Peter’s mouth seems dangerous. John’s been around his fair share of criminals; petty thieves, drug dealers, even the occasional rapist. Peter seems by far the most dangerous man he’s ever met.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Peter were a killer.

“Sir,” Isaac addresses him, calling him out of his reverie. “We’re respecting your rights as a parent. Stiles would never forgive us if you were hurt, though- so when you’re there, please don’t do anything crazy.

“I’m not stupid, son,” John replies, firm but not unkind.

What he doesn’t say is, _Stiles wouldn’t listen to that warning. I guess he gets that from me._

 

* * *

 

When Derek wakes he finds himself strapped to a chair. It’s metal, which is no surprise- the cables restraining him look like electrical ones.

_Hunters,_ he thinks darkly.

He’s surprisingly untouched and he wonders if maybe the torture is meant for when he’s conscious.

“The guest of honor,” someone says from the door.

Derek smells the man before he sees him and he restrains a growl, instead clenching his fists against the arms of his chair. _Gerard._

Derek doesn’t speak. He knows better.

“Derek. It’s been quite some time,” the man says pleasantly. “You were younger then, of course. Although I see you haven’t grown wiser.”

Derek follows the man with his eyes, channeling every ounce of his disdain and disgust. He doesn’t want to respond, knowing the man only wants a reaction. _Like Kate,_ he thinks. His anger is mounting, though, because something in his bond tells him that he’s not the only Pack suffering in the basement.

_What would Stiles do?_ He thinks to himself. It’s a dangerous thought because his wolf is already agitated, not knowing where Stiles is. He’s somewhat comforted too, though, because just imagining Stiles gives him a strength he didn’t realize he had.

“You’re still ugly,” Derek says blandly.

Something flickers in Gerard’s eyes.

_Disgust? Rage? He’s mad that Kate was outwitted,_ Derek realizes. _But it wasn’t me. I wonder if he knows._

“You’re lucky,” Gerard chuckles. “We won’t touch you. It’ll be more dramatic- more _damaging_ , really, if we don’t. No. We’re just going to hurt your Betas.”

Derek can’t help the spike of rage he feels but he grits his teeth, jerking against his restraints. He can’t shift. There are traces of wolfsbane on the chair, he thinks, because his head is still fuzzy and it can’t be the after-effects of the blow to his head anymore. It’s something else.

“Let them go. You only need me,” Derek reasons, trying to keep his voice level.

“We only _need_ you,” Gerard agrees, moving to the other side of the room. There’s a television screen there. “but what fun would that be?”

When Gerard turns the screen on Derek sees two feeds- Erica and Boyd in one, restrained, and Jackson in the other. Derek can tell that Erica and Boyd haven’t been touched yet. Jackson is beaten, though, backed into a corner of the room he’s in.

Derek’s wolf howls in rage and he catches a snarl in his throat, clamping his lips shut over the sound.

Gerard laughs.

“We’re going to have some fun, Derek. Do sit back and relax.”

When Gerard leaves, Derek tilts his head to the ceiling and _screams_.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is being moved. The two burly men from before drag him along a fluorescent concrete hallway and he moves quietly, head down. He casts glances along the wall, counting the doors and taking note of the branching paths they encounter.

They stop at the end of the hall, moving away from the door.

“I ain’t opening it,” one man says, laughing darkly.

“Fuck this shit,” the other man agrees, kicking the back of Stiles’ knees. “hey, kid. Open it and go in.”

“Are you afraid of something?” Stiles asks innocently, trying to gauge whether or not he can convince them.

There’s a low clicking sound, the unmistakable gear-grind of a safety being lowered on a gun. Stiles swallows. _Maybe not, then._

“You should be,” the first man says, moving away.

Stiles breathes slowly, preparing himself. He’s not sure what he’s going to walk into. He assumes it’s a werewolf from the way the men are acting. His bound hands reach for the door and he inhales deeply, twisting the knob.

The second man kicks him in quickly and then the door shuts with a loud _slam._

_If I die here, I’m gonna haunt their asses to the grave,_ Stiles thinks to himself as his eyes adjust to the dark.

There’s a loud growl, a rumble that sounds feral to his ears. Not like a werewolf. Like a _wolf_.

Something dark barrels out of the corner of the room and Stiles yells, lunging sideways as the beast snaps at him. Unthinkingly, he reaches out to circle his arms around the thing’s neck.

When his arms lock around hot skin, he realizes that it’s not a wolf.

It’s Jackson.

“Jackson, Jackson, what-,” Stiles babbles, still shocked as he’s shaken by his friend.

_Jackson was a kanima,_ he thinks numbly. He had been a kanima and no one had known what was wrong or who had helped to create him. They’d assumed it was one of the Alpha-and-Hunter team and had accepted that he would only be released after they were tried by the Hunters.

It takes him a minute to notice that Jackson’s usually blue eyes are no longer blue. They’re not reptilian either.

They’re black. Solid, no distinction between pupil and iris.

_Omega,_ Stiles realizes.

Jackson twists violently and Stiles loses his grip, crying out as he hits a wall. _No,_ he thinks, watching Jackson turn around, eyes dark. _No, no._

Jackson lunges and Stiles kicks out with his legs, knowing it won’t do much but knock the other boy back. Jackson barely budges, snarling.

_I don’t have a choice,_ Stiles thinks as his ribs ache. He distantly hopes that Gerard won’t be watching. He can only try to conceal his Spark so much.

“ ** _You are my Pack,_** ” Stiles says lowly, letting the Spark catch his words and bind them in fire.

Stiles hopes with all of his self that Jackson will accept the magic. He knows that magic only works if the user can stretch their belief far enough. _I believe it,_ he thinks to himself. _I love Lydia and he loves her. They’re happy together. He’s part of the Pack now._

Jackson stills, mouth half-open, and Stiles watches with fascination as the Omega falls to his knees, hands hitting the floor as he bends over, choking.

“Jackson? Jackson,” Stiles tries, scooting forward.

_I can’t worry about myself,_ he thinks. _I’m already dead. All I can do is try to help._

Jackson is struggling, Stiles thinks, and as he watches the black recedes from his irises.

“Come on,” Stiles coaxes. “Come _on_ , Jackson, I _know_ you know me. It’s me. Stiles.”

When Jackson looks up his eyes are glowing a sharp yellow. Stiles fights the smile threatening his mouth and he exhales heavily, relaxing. He tries not to cheer when Jackson throws his head back and _howls_.

 

* * *

 

_Police training 101,_ John thinks drily as he follows Lydia into the Argents’ house. _In an unfamiliar situation, listen to the one who’s more experienced than you. You may just live to see another paycheck._

He doesn’t want to consider the fact that the more experienced person in this case is barely sixteen.

“She’s not here,” Lydia whispers as she slips back out of Allison’s room.

The house is quiet. Too quiet, John thinks, but then he remembers something else he’d learned in his time working as sheriff.

_It’s never too quiet until you’re dead. Listen._

There’s a faint hum. It’s barely there but he tilts his head, lowering his voice.

“What’s in the garage?”

“Just the cars,” Lydia says slowly. He can tell she’s already catching on. “A few weapons. It’s big.”

“Big enough to keep people,” John bites out, swiveling on his feet to make his way back downstairs.

Lydia leads the way, swinging the door open as she takes cover by the side of the doorway. _Smart kid,_ he thinks. _I know why Stiles likes her._ After a minute her mouth flattens into a line and she twirls around the corner, red hair bright in the fluorescent light.

The garage is empty.

Well. Not _entirely_ empty.

John realizes with only faint horror that the low buzzing sound was what seems to be an electrified cage. It looks dangerous and inside, both Chris and Allison are bound. Chris is tied to a chair, John notices, while Allison is lying on a blanket.

_How kind,_ John thinks viciously. He’s starting to care less and less whether they run into Gerard.

“Idiot,” Lydia growls from a corner of the garage. John notices she’s working at some sort of computer or switchboard. “He has no backup.”

The low hum and sizzle of electricity dissipates suddenly, the noise there and then gone. John glances at Lydia, taking her expression as confirmation. He moves quickly, grabbing a pair of bolt cutters from a strangely illuminated board of weapons. _Jesus. That’s a crossbow,_ he notices as he grabs the tool. The lock on the cage is easily broken and he swings the door open, rushing inside.

“Chris,” he says, slapping the man’s cheek as gently as he dares. “Chris, wake up.”

The man blinks and suddenly John sees icy blue eyes, a glaze of pain sharpening with realization. John makes quick work of the zip ties on the man’s wrists and ankles, leaving the duct tape on his mouth alone.

Chris Argent rips the tape away and John is momentarily impressed by the devil-may-care action. He’s fairly sure it pulled some hair with it.

“Allison,” the man immediately says.

Lydia is helping the girl up on the other side of the cage, eyes fierce.

“Dad, I’m sor-,”

“No. This is my fault,” Chris says. He sounds sour.

John reminds himself to ask about it later.

“Someone took Stiles,” John starts. “and Derek. Jackson, Erica, and Boyd, too.”

Allison’s expression flares with fire and John is momentarily stunned, thinking _these aren’t girls, they’re women, Furies even_ and then Chris speaks.

“I know where he is. Allison.”

The girl flies out of the cage faster than John has ever seen a previously-unconscious person move and he notices she’s reaching for the crossbow he’d noticed earlier.

“Chris-,”

“With all due respect, Sheriff, you are out of your depth,” the man says. It’s matter-of-fact.

“They have my _son._ ”

“And they will kill _him_ and _you_ to keep their secrets,” Chris replies.

John feels his heart drop.

He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. Hadn’t wanted to recognize the fact that Stiles was _kidnapped_ and werewolves were _real_ and all the teenagers he thought he knew were not who he thought they were.

He isn’t sure _Stiles_ is who he thought he was.

When John leaves the house with Lydia, he distantly hears her calling the Hales. He barely notices when Laura Hale appears, watching him with grim acceptance.

He sits in silence as she takes his keys and drives them back to the Hales’ house.

 

* * *

 

“Thank god,” Stiles breathes, leaning instinctively against Jackson’s shoulder.

He realizes what he’s done a fraction of a second later, prepares himself for the inevitable remark and shove. They never come.

“What are you doing here?” Jackson asks, voice rough.

“They took us from the game,” Stiles says lowly, angry. “Erica and Boyd are down the hall.”

Jackson growls in his chest and Stiles smiles a little, moving away. He notices Jackson follow for a moment, cataloguing the moment for later.

“They hurt you,” Jackson realizes.

“It’s not bad,” Stiles says shortly, ignoring the way his chest protests as he pulls himself to his feet. “I’m just glad you didn’t kill me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says, rising slowly. “I- they… _changed_ me. Or maybe I just changed. I don’t know.”

He looks confused and Stiles feels sorry for him, remembering that Jackson is new to everything. He’s even newer to being a werewolf.

“It’s okay,” Stiles smiles reassuringly. “You’re strong now, though. Strong enough to get us out, I think.”

“How?”

“You know how you used to like knocking me over in lacrosse? Like that.”

Stiles winks and gestures at the door. Jackson blinks, looking between Stiles and the door.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Derek is feeling more than a little conflicted.

He’s beyond glad that Stiles is alive. He’d been terrified when Jackson had lunged. He thinks maybe he’d howled himself sore.

Thankfully, Stiles had done something. If Derek didn’t know Stiles and if he didn’t know werewolves, he would have guessed that Stiles had simply knocked some sense into Jackson. Derek _does_ know Stiles and werewolves, though, so he’s grappling with the reality of the situation.

Jackson is part of Stiles’ Pack.

He’s not sure what to think of the phrase ‘Stiles’ Pack’. Part of him hates it. Stiles is _his_ , his wolf tells him. It also tells him this is good, though. _A wolf with a Pack is strong._

Thus the conflict.

On the screen, Jackson is breaking the zip ties on Stiles’ hands. Derek is thankful that Stiles is animated. He can see Stiles asking Jackson something- _what can you hear?_ Probably. Jackson shakes his head and Stiles leans down, a hand on his shoulder, explaining. Derek feels a small rush of pride.

_Only an Alpha could teach a new wolf better,_ he thinks and then he realizes something.

_If Jackson is part of Stiles’ Pack, that makes Stiles Alpha._

And if Stiles is an Alpha, Derek isn’t sure what his reaction is going to be the next time he sees him.

 

* * *

 

Jackson easily breaks the door and Stiles grins, patting his shoulder.

“Good job. Let’s go,” he whispers, moving with quick feet down the hallway.

He stops at the right door, nodding at Jackson. _Let’s go._

The door gives way to the new werewolf easily and Stiles feels triumphant. It only lasts a second, though, because the two men inside turn from where they’re watching Erica and Boyd. Stiles can see one reaching for a walkie-talkie and he feels a brief rush of _NO_.

Jackson is across the room in an instant, swiping the walkie-talkie away.

“Don’t kill them,” Stiles says loudly, watching Erica and Boyd struggle as he swings the door shut to keep in the noise.

One of the men runs at Stiles and he barely misses a punch meant for his solar plexus, the blow catching his shoulder instead. He makes a noise of pain and anger, feeling the echo of what he knows will become a bruise.

Jackson growls on the other side of the room.

“I’m done playing nice,” Stiles hisses, unfurling a silver chain from his pocket.

The Hunter laughs. It’s the last thing he does before Stiles reaches for his Spark. _Time to start a fire,_ he thinks to himself as he whips the chain in his hand towards the man.

The chain glows hotly with fire and Stiles smiles grimly as the man yells, recoiling when the chain burns his hand. Stiles _pulls_ , feeling the chain wrap around the man’s hand, and then he kicks the man back into the wall.

The chain lashes out across the man’s face and Stiles turns, seeing Jackson advancing.

“Knock him out,” Stiles says, already moving towards Erica and Boyd.

Behind him, Jackson snarls and then there’s a resounding _thump_.

Stiles easily removes the gags, moving towards the cords holding the two Betas up.

“You’ve been busy,” Erica breathes, coughing as she works her jaw.

“Busy being beaten,” Stiles snorts. He tries to make light of the situation, knowing that they’ve probably drawn attention to themselves.

“You have a Pack,” Boyd says lowly.

Stiles blinks.

“Wait a minute- _wha_ -,”

He doesn’t get to finish. There’s a resounding _BOOM_ from aboveground and then small clouds of earth rain from the ceiling.

“I think that’s our cue,” Jackson says drily.

“Yup,” Stiles says shortly, moving towards the door. “Let’s get Derek and _run_.”

 

* * *

 

Gerard is furious.

_So much for not touching me,_ Derek thinks as the metal pipe connects with his face. He spits blood onto the concrete, moving his jaw as it painfully mends itself.

“Your little human is quite the troublemaker,” the man says. There’s rage in his voice.

“Isn’t he?”

Derek is rewarded with a blow to his chest. He thinks it’s worth it and he’s preparing himself for another when the door explodes inward.

It’s almost as if time stops.

Stiles is standing in the doorway, gaze intense as he steps into the open space. His chin is tilted defiantly, one hand wrapped around a metal pipe that looks curiously similar to the one Gerard is using. His voice is low and quiet when he speaks.

“Let him go.”

In that very moment, Derek feels himself- every hair and fiber of his being- submit. He is in the presence of a startlingly human god, he thinks, and his wolf recognizes _mate_ and _alpha_ and something else foreign and powerful in the figure standing in the doorway.

Derek lets out a small breath and he barely notices the Betas look at him, eyes wide. Jackson’s eyes are narrowed.

“I don’t think so,” Gerard says pleasantly. He steps closer to Derek.

Derek winces, choking a little as the blade is pressed to his neck. He thinks it’s poisoned.

Stiles’ gaze darkens. Derek can almost feel the veritable _miasma_ of anger he is emanating. He thinks maybe Gerard can feel it too because the old man’s pressing hand loosens.

“You want a chess piece,” Stiles says easily, sliding further into the room. “You think you have the perfect one. You don’t.”

“I think I’m in the perfect place for a checkmate,” Gerard counters.

“You think you’ve got the second most powerful in the chain of command. You’re wrong. _I_ am what you want,” Stiles says, raising his voice a fraction.

Derek shivers when he watches Stiles let his Spark rise. He’s only seen the aftermath. Stiles letting it loose, he thinks, looks like someone lighting a match. It starts in his eyes, the gold suddenly becoming a bit more orange than yellow, the change flickering. It’s joined not only by the physical change but also by something else, something intangible. It registers as the faint smell of smoke to Derek.

Gerard is practically salivating.

“Let him go,” Stiles repeats, patient. “I will stay.”

The Betas move to argue but Stiles holds a hand up. Gerard tilts his head, eyebrows raised. Derek can see the gears turning in the man’s head. _He thinks they follow him. They obey him. He’s thinking that Stiles is powerful. More than me._

“You two,” Gerard motions to Erica and Boyd. “Take your captive prince into the hallway. Do not release him until you are there. If you try anything, I’ll kill the…human.”

The word ‘human’ is filled with amusement. Derek wants to growl but he bites his lip, focusing on Stiles.

_Like hell I’m letting him exchange himself,_ he thinks.

When Erica and Boyd get closer, he readies himself to bite. To fight free. He’s about to move, too, when he sees Boyd lean down out of Gerard’s sight.

The kid winks.

_Winks._

He feels Erica and Boyd cut his bonds simultaneously, quick, and Gerard doesn’t have time to move before Stiles hits the ground, letting Jackson leap over him to restrain the old man. Derek roars as he rises from his chair, twisting with a snarl to face Gerard.

Stiles’ hand is suddenly on his chest and if he didn’t see the regular color in his eyes Derek would have sworn the burn he felt was from the Spark.

“Your family are here,” Stiles reminds him. “Above.”

Derek inhales Stiles’ scent like a drowning man. He leans against Stiles, thinking distantly that they’re the same height now. _And he’s still growing._

Stiles leads them out of the basement and his hand never leaves Derek’s.

 

* * *

 

There’s a flurry of activity when they reach the surface. Allison checks Stiles, moving to meet Jackson and help her father carry an unconscious Gerard out.

Isaac meets Erica and Boyd, lingering a moment when Stiles pulls them close.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers to Erica and Boyd. He can tell they don’t believe him but he knows they’ll have time to talk about it.

The Hales are insistent, checking Stiles and making assorted growling noises of anger at his injuries. He reassures them, pretending not to notice when Caius raises an eyebrow at the way Jackson is following him around.

_Later,_ he tries to communicate. The man seems to acquiesce.

“Your father,” Talia starts, looking sorry. “We tried to explain. He’s not happy.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, suddenly tired. “I’ll talk to him.”

Derek insists on taking Stiles home after repeatedly assuring his parents that he wasn’t hurt. They leave in Stiles’ Jeep and Stiles thanks Lydia, smiling when she hands the keys over.

Before they go, Jackson lingers at Stiles’ side. Lydia notices, frowning a little as if she isn’t sure what will happen.

“Thank you,” Jackson says quietly. Stiles knows he’s trying to be inconspicuous so he doesn’t point out that they are surrounded by werewolves with super-hearing.

“It was never a question,” Stiles says seriously. _It wasn’t. I was always going to help you._

Jackson nods, blinking.

“I’m- I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Stiles jokes, smiling as Jackson relaxes a bit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? We’ll make sure you’re comfortable. I know it’s a hard change.”

Jackson watches Stiles for a moment with a look that is suddenly too grateful and relieved and Stiles tries not to choke up. _He’s not my **kid** , _Stiles rebukes himself. _Get a grip._

Derek doesn’t talk much on the way to Stiles’ house. When they get there, Stiles sighs, glancing at the silent man.

“I screwed up,” he says quietly. “I used magic to make a bond with Jackson. After he was forced to become something he didn’t want to _twice_ , I-,”

“You’re alive,” Derek says roughly, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. “I don’t care _what_ you did. And did you see his face? I don’t think he felt forced.”

Stiles shakes his head, wants to argue, but he’s too tired and he knows it’s not the time.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Stiles manages instead, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Derek manages. His voice is a whisper and Stiles glances at him, trying to figure out what’s happening.

He’s almost struck breathless when he notices that Derek is flushed, staring right at Stiles’ _mouth_.

_Fuck this,_ Stiles thinks because he’s had enough of dancing around Derek, has had enough of pretending that they tease each other out of fun and good nature. He’s done teasing, is done _being_ teased.

Stiles leans over the center console, grabs the back of Derek’s neck, and takes the plunge.

Derek gasps, mouth open against Stiles’. The reaction is sudden but Stiles forges on, knowing that he may only get this chance. He hopes his future self- and maybe Derek- will forgive him as he takes presses, hoping for a reaction.

Stiles thinks, with distant amusement, that this is the second shirt that Derek has ruined. The ripping sound echoes in the car as Derek _pulls_ Stiles impossibly onto his lap and Stiles doesn’t even know how they manage because the seat isn’t that big. In a moment of clarity, he realizes Derek has moved the seat back and for some reason he’s irritated that the man was distracted enough to do so.

It’s one kiss, one incredibly long kiss, but it seems so short when the porch light suddenly illuminates the driveway.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes, breaking away.

He’s disappointed because the dry press of their lips has been frustratingly dissatisfying. He’s angry because he knows he shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have started something he couldn’t finish.

Derek’s eyes are dark and unfocused.

“Go,” the man says, distinctly breathless.

It’s not angry or disgusted. Stiles takes heart, thinking that _maybe_ he hasn’t fucked up.

_Maybe,_ he thinks, _we’re finally getting somewhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope this filled the 'angst' and 'further complication' quota. I thought it was important to incorporate the fact that both Derek and Stiles have been hiding their feelings for a while and it's not easy. I also enjoy the idea of Jackson being on Stiles' side because he may have been an asshole but learning about the supernatural and growing with Lydia would be pretty transformational. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I'll try to get the next one up soon. Hopefully, we only have two to go...


	5. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While John deals with the reality of his son's life, Stiles deals with his new bond with Jackson.  
> In the end, though, it all comes down to family.  
> Family, and love.

“ _All_ of them?”

“…not Lydia,” Stiles reminds his father helplessly, trying not to feel guilty. It isn’t quite working.

“Werewolves,” John breathes, running tired hands over his face.

_I wish it didn’t have to be like this,_ Stiles thinks to himself. _I wish he had never found out._

“Dad…I’m sorry. I was just- trying to keep you safe.”

“Safe? _Me_? Stiles, you’ve been running around with _werewolves_ this entire time. How is that safe?”

“They’re not just werewolves, they’re _Pack_ ,” Stiles says automatically, feeling an irrational flare of anger and possessiveness.

He bites his tongue when he sees his father’s expression, disbelieving and incredulous, as if it’s not his son he’s seeing. Stiles wants to say something, wants to _explain,_ but he doesn’t know how to say _without them my world wouldn’t feel right_.

“And you?” John asks quietly.

Stiles feels his heart crawl into his throat and he tries to swallow it down.

“I’m not a werewolf, dad,” Stiles says.

“I don’t like you being around them,” John starts and Stiles immediately shakes his head, feeling every inch of himself fight the lingering sentence.

“No. Dad- you don’t understand. They’re- they have…bonds. Like wolves,” Stiles tries, biting the corner of his lip nervously. “We’re like a Pack. The Hales. All the others. It’s more than family.”

“ _They’re_ not your family, son,” John says firmly, eyebrows raised in the familiar expression that says _you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about._

But he _does_ and he has to try and make his father understand, has to try and explain why separating from the Pack would be a fate worse than death.

“Dad, you remember how Mom used to take me into the forest?”

John blinks, eyes softening with a sheen of memory and unshed tears. Stiles hates himself a little for bringing her up but he knows they can’t avoid the old scar, circling the wound forever.

“…yes.”

“When we went, I used to play with Derek. Derek Hale.”

John looks at Stiles, steady. Stiles tries not to betray anything, locking away the memory of the kiss as he focuses on the moment.

“Did she know them?”

_It’s going to kill him,_ Stiles thinks to himself.

“Yes,” he says.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles begins and he feels like he’s been saying it too much recently.

“…why?” Jackson asks, stepping closer.

In another time, Stiles would have backed away. Stepped away because he’d have thought that Jackson was one step from hitting him.

Now, he thinks that it’s their bond at work and he can feel a thin thrum, a note between them that sounds tentative and unsure.

“What I did- when I said you were my Pack, I messed up,” Stiles tries to explain.

Jackson moves back, leaning against the doorframe, and Stiles feels the chord sour in a way that brings a cry to his throat. He thinks there’s a whine in the back of Jackson’s throat and he thinks _oh, hell no,_ before the other teen speaks.

“Yeah,” Jackson says shortly, expression closed, and he moves as if he’s going to shut his front door but Stiles stops him.

“I would never bind someone to me like that,” Stiles explains, raising his voice. “and I meant…I meant that you were part of the Hale Pack. It’s just…at the time, I wasn’t thinking. I wanted to help you, and I should have been clearer, but I knew you were close to losing it and I did the first thing I could think of.”

“…you would never bind someone?” Jackson asks, quiet. He doesn’t close the door, though.

“No,” Stiles says firmly. “I don’t want to force my power over other people.”

They stand there for a minute, silent. _I hope he understands,_ Stiles thinks.

“You didn’t force me,” Jackson finally says. “I felt it. The…magic. I think I was already coming back to myself. But…I wanted the bond.”

His words are quiet, like a confession. Stiles thinks that he’s never wanted to hug anyone so badly.

Their connection echoes his feelings and he thinks _fuck it_ , stepping forward to pull Jackson into a hug. Jackson stiffens for a moment, still, and then he lets himself relax in Stiles’ arms.

He doesn’t hug back but Stiles thinks _baby steps_ and he smiles when he hears Jackson sigh.

Maybe he can make it work.

 

* * *

 

“This doesn’t have to be a problem,” Talia starts.

Derek fights the growl in his throat.

He knows his mother means well. That she’s right, even. It still feels wrong to posture against Stiles, though. For some reason, he still feels like _Pack_. Not an enemy Alpha.

“I didn’t think it would be,” Stiles says calmly.

Jackson is sitting by Stiles, studiously avoiding eye contact with the other werewolves. Derek glances at Laura, trying to gauge her reaction. She seems civil enough, he thinks. Almost normal. _As if this is any other dinner conversation._

Except it’s not.

“This is…a unique case,” Deaton says from the foot of the table. He is wearing the same enigmatic smile that has always annoyed Derek.

_He’s enjoying this._

“I thought it was,” Caius says, his calm tone smoothing the tense conversation. “We can still sense Stiles as a member of the Pack. With Jackson, however- his bond is muted.”

“His bond doesn’t quite exist,” Deaton explains. “At least, not with you. He is bonded to Stiles and Stiles is a member of your Pack. You are not perceiving Stiles as a threat or outsider because he is not a wolf.”

“A wolf would never change- status or otherwise- for anything but an Alpha,” Talia says tensely.

It’s more of a question than a statement. _“You ask questions like your mom,”_ he hears Stiles say. Fifteen years old and full of sass. _He’s still full of sass,_ Derek thinks with mild humor.

“Not usually,” Deaton says. His not-quite-smile grows. “but in this case, the bond was not a typical werewolf kind. Stiles used magic.”

“How does that make a difference?” Laura asks. “It’s still a bond, isn’t it?”

“What’s the basis of Pack bonds?” Deaton asks. “How do you determine to whom you submit?”

Derek frowns.

“The Bite. Or family,” Derek mutters. “if you’re born. In the case of strangers, hierarchy can influence a wolf’s behavior.”

“Stiles didn’t bite Jackson,” Talia realizes. Derek can almost see the gears turning. “He’s human, so he wouldn’t be recognized as an Alpha.”

“Family,” Stiles breathes, and Derek wants to wrap himself in the word as it falls from his lips.

_Nothing sounds sweeter,_ he thinks and the sensation of lips against his threatens to overwhelm him. He pushes it back, trying to focus.

“When you offered the bond, it was not through any type of power play, was it?”

Deaton smiles even as he asks. _He always knows the answer before he asks,_ Derek thinks. _Smug bastard._

“No,” Stiles says, laughing a little. “No. It was…something else.”

“You offered…to be my family,” Jackson says quietly, hesitant, and it’s the first time Derek’s heard him speak since the meeting started.

When the kid looks up Derek sees wonder and uncertainty and hope in his eyes. He sees a breathless mirror image of what he feels and he thinks _Stiles has us all in the palm of his hand,_ and he wants to laugh because _of course he would choose family over power._

Talia is finally smiling and Derek swallows, tearing himself from staring at Stiles because the expression of relief and joy on Stiles’ face is too sweet for him not to lose himself.

“Stiles,” Talia finally says. “You’re still Pack. We understand that Jackson is your responsibility. When you’re ready- when _he’s_ ready- we will welcome you.”

Stiles smiles like the sun and Derek thinks that maybe he has something in common with Jackson, after all.

 

* * *

 

Talia is proud.

She comes from a long line of werewolves and her blood is the product of years of instinct and humanity married to perfection.

Caius had never been a man she’d thought she’d marry.

She had expected to marry a born wolf. A familiar son from a familiar family; a marriage of opportunity and pride.

Oh, how wrong she’d been.

“You’re frowning,” Caius says quietly. His thumb presses at the center of her eyebrows.

She swats his hand away halfheartedly. She can never really bring herself to push him away.

“Our son is a fool,” Talia mutters.

“Mmm,” Caius murmurs, still peering down at the book in his hands. He’s wearing reading glasses.

_God. I fell in love with a dork,_ Talia thinks.

“…he’s not unhappy anymore,” Talia notes, moving her legs across Caius’ lap.

Her husband closes the book, careful fingers slipping a bookmark in place. Talia watches him put his glasses on the side table, counting the freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“But you’re not happy,” Caius notes, turning sideways to look at her.

“ _He’s_ not…entirely happy,” Talia sighs.

_Children. They’re so wonderfully frustrating._

Her husband’s lips quirk a little and she finds herself wanting to bite his full lower lip, if only to squash the obvious amusement he is getting out of her current state of distress.

As it is, she growls a little.

“ _Amor._ He has his own decisions to make,” Caius smiles, a wide hand rubbing softly against her knee.

_Damn hands. Damn man,_ she thinks. Not that she’s displeased. Really, there had never been any fighting Caius. She hadn’t been able to fight his smile. His random Spanish. The way he’d looked when he fell asleep wearing his glasses on a pile of textbooks in college.

“He has to _make_ them, yes,” Talia growls.

She sighs and gives in, slumping into the couch. Caius chuckles and pulls her closer by her legs. She frowns up at him.

“It’s lovely how you worry about them when they’re gone,” Caius smiles.

He leans down to kiss her on the nose and she glares when he backs away.

“It wouldn’t make sense if we _both_ worried when they were here,” she mutters.

She can feel the blush on her cheeks.

“You know, you aren’t made of stone,” Caius reminds her, reaching back for his book. “Our son gets that from you.”

Talia growls again, yanking her husband back with strong legs wrapped around his torso.

This time, she bites his lip. She doesn’t think he cares.

 

* * *

 

The first time Stiles brings Jackson to a Pack training session, Derek can _hear_ the bated breath.

“Guys, please,” Stiles complains, rolling his shoulders as he swings a bat with practice. “You never shut up on a regular day. Don’t make this weird.”

To their credit, the Pack _tries_ to act normal.

“Is this a good idea?” Derek mutters to Stiles as he stretches.

Stiles’ immediately stormy gaze makes Derek simultaneously want to step back _and_ want to step forward and kiss him again.

“I’ll let you know _after_ we flatten your asses,” Stiles says sweetly.

_He is **not** good for my health, _Derek thinks distantly. The thought is reinforced by the half-amused, half-disgusted look Cora shoots him as she walks past.

“Keep it in your pants, Der,” his little sister gripes, just quiet enough that Stiles won’t hear.

The session kicks off easily. It’s mostly a game of capture-the-flag, with Talia and Caius serving as opposing captains. Stiles, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson are wild cards. They do their best to hone their skills stopping werewolves. Jackson had been a last-minute decision.

_“It’s only fair,”_ Stiles had said, smiling. _“Train all wolves like a wolf and you’ll be at a disadvantage.”_

Derek isn’t sure what Stiles’ particular brand of training is like. He knows for certain, however, that there is no chance Jackson won’t be able to defend himself.

He’s proved right when Jackson appears seemingly out of nowhere- _trees,_ his mind helpfully supplies- and flips Derek onto the ground.

They’re surprisingly matched in terms of fighting.

Surprising, because Derek is a fair fighter. Because no matter how badly Stiles had wanted to be the only teacher to Jackson, he’s a human and there are things about being a wolf he wouldn’t know.

Apparently, none of that matters.

“Derek!” Cora roars.

_Well, it didn’t last long,_ he thinks as he moves aside to let his sister deal the final blow.

He is therefore shocked when Cora freezes, a satchel falling from the sky, neatly onto her neck.

“Stiles,” Derek realizes, looking to the sky.

Stiles winks, blowing a kiss, and Derek has to swallow a bit too hard to rid himself of the image. Cora, meanwhile, growls angrily as she stalks back to the house.

“Way to go,” she mutters to her brother.

_Stiles knew a wolf would be distracted by a wolf,_ Derek thinks with pride. _He used Jackson to distract us from the real threat. From him._

Jackson smirks and before he leaves, he grabs the hem of his shirt to pull it taught with a _crack._ Derek freezes when he catches the scent- Jackson, the woods they’d rolled in, and a very distinct detergent heightened by the vanilla spice of Stiles.

He can’t stop the growl in his chest.

“Get motivated,” Jackson tosses over his shoulder. “or get beaten.”

Derek wants to snarl because he knows, beyond a shred of a doubt, that it’s entirely _Stiles_ talking.

_Oh, I’m motivated,_ he thinks, sprinting further into the woods.

The woods are a flurry of motion. Somewhere nearby, Allison manages to pin Boyd with a paint-tipped practice arrow. Derek dodges around the others, focusing on providing cover for Erica. She has possession of the flag, is running back to the house, and he wants to keep her safe. His wolf is itching to prove itself, to show Stiles that he can protect, too.

Stiles pops up a mile from the house. Derek skids to a halt, listening to Erica as she moves away. Stiles is grinning, the bat in his hands a hard foam that packs a punch but won’t break bone.

“Derek. You look…determined,” Stiles grins, swinging the bat.

Derek growls. He knows it doesn’t sound particularly threatening. His wolf isn’t _angry._ It’s closer to _aroused_. He thinks he should be keeping a lid on his feelings but he can’t bring himself to care, knowing the smell of the woods and adrenaline will mask he need he’s feeling.

“You’re playing games with me,” Derek manages, flexing his hands.

“Oh. _I’m_ playing games,” Stiles says incredulously, throwing his hands in the air. “ _I’m_ \- wait, wait, someone pinch me. I think Derek Hale is _wrong_. For once.”

“Don’t do this,” Derek growls. He knows his eyes are flickering with inhuman light.

“Do what?” Stiles whispers. His eyes are dark honey and Derek feels his wolf tearing at his insides.

“You’re seventeen,” Derek manages and the statement is more to convince himself than Stiles. He’s pretty sure Stiles doesn’t give a fuck.

“You’re twenty-two,” Stiles snaps back, walking closer. Derek tries not to flinch away. “Are you telling me you’re an adult now?”

The last words are whispered into Derek’s ear as Stiles leans close and Derek is overwhelmed by _vanilla honey spice fire_ and he gives up, growling as he turns his head, fangs _itching_ as he leans down.

When his teeth sink into flesh he hears Stiles cry out and suddenly Derek can sense _pain_ and then _ecstasy_ and it washes over him like a breaking wave, intense and powerful through a sudden _bond_.

It’s a bond, he knows, that Stiles can feel. He knows because Stiles’ nails are scraping against Derek’s back as he pulls them closer together, gasping for air as Derek tastes the salt of skin and the faint tang of blood.

He knows instinctively that he hasn’t Bitten Stiles. He knows his fangs had retracted ever so slightly, can tell that all he’s going to leave Stiles with is a stark hickey right at the junction of his shoulder and neck.

“Der-,” Stiles starts and his voice is breathless and wrecked, void of control and the useless walls they’ve been putting up since they’d met each other.

So Derek does the only thing he can think of, turns his face further to silence Stiles with his mouth.

He’s about to open his mouth further when he hears something snap in the distance.

The moment shatters and he is suddenly transported, aware of the fact that they’re a mile from the house and there are literally almost a dozen werewolves headed their way.

“God damn it,” Stiles breathes, moving away, almost spinning on his feet as if he’s getting ready to collapse.

Derek wants to mirror the sentiment but he breathes deeply, a shaky hand covering his mouth because he wants to wipe his face clean, wipe it of all traces of Stiles, but he knows it’s useless.

Stiles pulls his hoodie back up his shoulder, effectively hiding the mark and Derek feels a rumble start in his chest.

“I don’t think you want it uncovered,” Stiles raises his eyebrows, laughing humorlessly as they sway in place, feet away.

They’re fighting gravity, Derek thinks, fighting an unstoppable force that he really doesn’t want to ignore because it’s insane. Stupid. _Useless._

Jackson is the first to appear, sending Derek an unimpressed look. He turns to Stiles and Derek can only see Stiles’ reaction, the way his nose wrinkles as he smacks Jackson on the arm.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“I _am_ ,” Jackson replies easily, patting Stiles on the cheek roughly.

“Yeah,” Stiles snorts, sighing. “You two should get along just fine, then.”

“I’m not the only one with shit timing,” Derek finally mutters, shooting Stiles a significant look.

Stiles huffs.

“The universe doesn’t like us.”

Derek is inclined to agree- especially when the rest of the Pack show up and Talia berates Derek for leaving Erica to return on her own.

 

* * *

 

“This has to end,” Stiles says shortly.

Derek blinks, feeling his hands itch to reach out for the teenager standing in front of him.

Stiles had texted Derek at three in the morning. _SOS. Come to the clearing._ Derek had been there in under a minute, forgoing his car for full-out sprinting.

“What do you-,”

“I _swear_ to God, Derek if you _pretend_ you don’t know- because I _know_ you do- I will leave you her in a circle of fucking mountain ash.”

_He’d do it,_ Derek thinks.

“What do you want to do?” Derek asks shortly. “It- I’ve been…making mistakes,” he tries, knowing he sounds lame but not knowing how to explain.

“Mistakes?” Stiles echoes.

_Fuck,_ Derek thinks and then he’s met by an expression far worse than the slap he’d been expecting. He’s seen Stiles shut down once before, when he’d brought Kate to his house. It feels like hell to see Stiles shutting down again, eyes dimming as he looks ready to leave and never come back.

“No- not…not _mistakes,_ Stiles,” Derek begins but Stiles cuts him off.

“If you don’t want…me,” Stiles starts and Derek can tell his choking on his words, “then fine. I’m not dragging myself through the mud for someone that doesn’t care.”

“I care,” Derek says immediately, feeling the force of his words escape him like a howl.

“Do you?” Stiles asks, eyes sharp. “I know we’ve known each other for a long time, Derek. I’m not stupid. I know it’s dangerous to take this any further. I know you’re a little fucked for relationships, but hey-,”

“You’re not Kate. _I’m_ not Kate,” Derek cuts him off.

It’s the truth. _And I believe it now,_ he thinks, watching the way Stiles looks a little hopeful, a lot unsure. As if he _wants_ to believe Derek.

“No. You’re right. But you’re still afraid of hurting me,” Stiles says.

“Yes. I always will be.”

“Why? You need to… _stop_ ,” Stiles says, frustrated, running his hands through his hair.

Derek realizes, suddenly, that Stiles is a hair’s breadth away from being taller than him.

He laughs.

Stiles looks at him as if he’s crazy.

“I’m an idiot,” Derek manages, shaking his head as he looks at the sky. The moon, yellow in the fall.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, still looking disquieted. “We’ve established that. The whole Pack, actually. I think you’re the only one that doesn’t-,”

Derek kisses Stiles for the second time, thinking secretly to himself that maybe he’ll enjoy it when Stiles gets a little taller, and mumbles,

“Shut up.”

“Shutting up,” Stiles breathes in a singsong voice, the words vibrating against their connected lips.

Derek growls but he’s smiling, backing Stiles against a tree because he wants to _lean_ against him and he knows he’s dense with muscle and Stiles, no matter how strong, is a bit willowier.

Stiles laughs as he backpedals and Derek thinks, after he feels nails scraping lightly on his back, that he has discovered a secret fascination with Stiles’ hands. They’re perfect on his skin and he thinks Stiles would probably be good at guitar with his long fingers and then his mind promptly dives into the gutter and he thinks _no, bad_.

“So much for holding back,” Stiles gasps happily, breaking away so that he can laugh and bite Derek’s neck.

Derek thinks he sees stars then and he feels his fangs drop, claws suddenly popping against Stiles’ skin.

Stiles makes a pleased noise and Derek knows there are pinpricks of blood but he only feels half-sorry because Stiles shivers, clearly enjoying the way Derek is falling apart under him.

“Hmmm, note to self, biting is Derek’s kink,” Stiles giggles, _giggles,_ Derek thinks exasperatedly.

“You’re a- _nerd,_ ” Derek gasps because Stiles’ fingers have moved decidedly south and they are _very grabby._ His fingers dig a bit further into Stiles’ arm.

“ _Kink two,_ ” Stiles laughs, gasping for air as Derek pushes him against the tree, desperate.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Derek growls.

He tries not to act too pleased when Stiles complies.

He thinks that maybe he could get lost in Stiles’ mouth because he tastes like honey and the heat and flavor adds another level of sensory overload to the moment. _I’m done,_ Derek thinks, shivering when his hands find Stiles’ hipbones. _I am done for. I am lost._ He can feel a whimper escape his throat, knows the connection between them is thrumming with _love_ and _joy_ and the tiniest hint of _fear_ and _awe_.

Stiles can feel it, he knows, because he breaks away suddenly and ducks down, fingers tearing Derek’s shirt up to his neck.

When Stiles’ mouth finds Derek’s chest he _bites_ , right over the heart, and Derek can’t fight the cry that escapes him, half wolf and half man.

**_I am found._ **

 

* * *

 

Stiles isn’t sure what he’s doing anymore.

He thinks biting over Derek’s heart was instinctive, maybe half muddled thoughts about wolves and another half vague emotions flowing through their strange bond.

_I wonder if this is a mate-bond,_ Stiles wonders and he thinks maybe he should test the theory but then there’s a pair of headlights swinging in the distance.

“Stiles,” Derek says suddenly.

_He sounds wrecked,_ Stiles thinks and he’s pleased with his work but also annoyed that he’s talking.

“What?”

“I think someone’s coming,” Derek breathes heavily. His shirt slides back down as Stiles’ hands leave it.

He doesn’t miss the way Derek’s hands shoot up as if to hold him in place.

“You want to give them a show?” Stiles raises an eyebrow, lips quirking.

Derek growls.

“No, then,” Stiles chuckles, “for now.”

His heart, to his credit, only plummets halfway when he notices the plates on the car.

“Your father,” Derek realizes, tense.

“Yup,” Stiles says weakly. “I’m not grounded. I might be when we leave.”

John exits the car, firearm ready, and Stiles sighs.

“Son? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Dad,” Stiles tries, raising his hands. “Just…talking.”

“Talking?”

Stiles bites his lip as his father approaches, hoping to the heavens that this will end well. _I can’t really afford another fallout._

“Sir,” Derek says, stepping forward.

The gun immediately swivels up again and Stiles lets out a cry of protest as Derek blinks, stepping back a fraction of an inch.

“ _Put. It. Down,_ ” Stiles hisses through his teeth. He can feel his Spark at his fingertips but he represses it, trying to keep a level head.

“You mind telling me what you’re doing in the woods in the middle of the night with a werewolf, son?” John asks tensely.

“We were making out,” Stiles deadpans.

It’s so quiet that he can hear the creek burbling five miles away.

Derek looks at Stiles with an expression that clearly says _are you insane?_

John sighs, lowering his gun, holstering it with reluctant fingers.

“Don’t do this again,” the man says wearily. “and if you’re not home within the next five minutes, I’ll send a patrol car to bring you back _and_ keep an eye on you.”

“It takes ten minutes to get home, Dad!” Stiles yells after the man as he leaves.

He can feel his heart rate slowing and he sighs, shoulders dropping in relief as his father leaves.

“…he didn’t believe you,” Derek manages. He sounds half-confused, half resigned. As if he’d expected the response.

“Not because he doesn’t think we could be together,” Stiles says firmly, turning to face the man. Derek raises an eyebrow. _The Hales and their eyebrows._ “Because he doesn’t think I could be with _anyone_.”

Derek snorts but he moves closer, pulling Stiles into a hug. It’s warm and safe and _perfect_ and Stiles finds himself wondering if he can ever fall asleep alone again.

“I do. Think you could be with anyone.”

“Good,” Stiles says lightly even as he pulls Derek tight. “I like being appreciated.”

“You are,” Derek replies.

“You too,” Stiles says firmly, moving away an inch to bite Derek’s ear. He grins when the man shivers. “Sourwolf.”

 

* * *

 

“Let’s have a talk, son.”

Derek blinks, bag of groceries in hand. He tries to think of how he can make this situation better but he comes up with nothing, left staring at John Stilinski with a blank expression.

“…sir?”

“Come on,” the man says, shaking his head as he leads the way.

Derek blinks rapidly, following after a beat. _This is the very definition of unexpected,_ he thinks, following the sheriff into the station.

As a rule, Derek doesn’t like the station. He thinks most supernatural creatures avoid run-ins with authority. It’s not easy to explain being a werewolf.

They go straight to John’s office.

“What is this about?” Derek manages to ask, watching as the man gestures for him to sit.

Derek takes a seat on the edge of a chair, plastic bag held tightly in his fingers.

“Stiles is my son,” the man begins, leaning forward on his arms. “Even despite his affiliation with… _werewolves_ …I still know my son.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Derek replies quietly. He means it.

He’s seen single-parent families. In the supernatural world, the difficulty is multiplied by the need for bonds. For Pack. He thinks that John, in any given situation, would do anything for his son. And Stiles would do the same.

_I guess that’s where he gets it from._

“You should know, then, that I am not oblivious to your rendezvous in the woods.”

Derek tries to keep his expression calm. Inside, he feels like screaming. _I am dead,_ he thinks. _I have committed suicide. I have killed myself by letting myself get involved with Stiles while he was seventeen. Hell, even before then._

“Sir- I-,” Derek begins, trying to think of how to politely say _I tried but we’ve been keeping this under wraps for over three years now. Probably even longer._

“I understand you knew my son. When he was a child,” John interrupts. He sounds…kinder.

“…yes,” Derek manages, trying to keep up with the sudden turn.

“…did you ever meet Claudia?”

The question is quiet. Derek can hear the skip in John’s heartbeat, the way his voice fluctuates on her name.

He resolves then to give John the truth. He doesn’t deserve any less. He’s Stiles’ father.

“I did,” Derek says simply. “I was very young.”

“He’s like her,” John manages, smiling a little. “She was strong-willed. Independent. Prone to lying about how she was feeling.”

Derek can’t help his small smile. _I can smell the smoke on him sometimes,_ he thinks. _Part Spark. Part fire._

“I’m not surprised,” Derek laughs quietly.

“He’s very good about getting his way,” John says, eyes searching Derek.

Derek doesn’t hide.

He knows his dedication is probably written on his face, the pride and love his wolf feels multiplied by his human heart.

John must find what he’s looking for because he settles back in his chair, hands linked on his lap.

“Three months until his birthday,” the man says mildly. “I won’t be able to stop him then. Not that I ever have been.”

“I don’t think anyone could,” Derek submits, smiling at the picture on the sheriff’s desk.

Stiles, fifteen years old and hanging from a tree branch as he laughs.

“No,” John agrees, a smile gracing his tired face. “There’s no stopping Stiles.”

 

* * *

 

The Witches attack at dawn.

Erica coughs up blood, falling to her knees, angry and simmering with unused power. She can see Boyd out of the corner of her eyes, his grunts of pain barely making it past clenched teeth.

When the leader, a woman with deep red hair, kicks her in the head, her last act is to try and get a message through.

“ _Derek,_ ” she manages, gasping, pulling at the bond, and then stars cloud her vision and she passes out.

 

* * *

 

Scott shows up at Stiles’ house with Allison in tow. Caius is there, too, along with Derek and Peter.

Stiles answers the doorbell and blinks, momentarily shocked by the congregation.

“Scott-,” he starts, glancing back into the house. His father rises from the kitchen table, approaching.

“They took the Betas,” Scott says lowly.

Stiles can feel his Spark flaring, knows the smell of smoke is rising around him, but he can’t find it ins himself to care.

“ _Who,_ ” he grinds out, spinning on his heels.

He almost doesn’t notice when his father blinks, stepping back a fraction of an inch. _He knows,_ Stiles thinks and he can’t fight the ounce of regret that rises. _He knows something is different about me._

“Witches. Three, Deaton says. They’re at the old bank,” Scott calls up the stairs.

Stiles returns in a minute, bat slung over his shoulder. There’s a gold-orange crystal dangling around his neck, glowing brightly.

“You can’t go,” John says immediately.

“John,” Caius starts, placating, but Stiles interrupts.

_This is my fight._

“They’re Pack, Dad. And I’m a Witch. I _will_ get them back.”

His words are fierce like daggers and he watches his father blink, realization settling over his face.

“…that bank is condemned,” the man says shortly, turning to retrieve his weapon. “They’re trespassing.”

Allison casts a look at Stiles. _I’ll keep him safe,_ she seems to say. He sends her a grateful look, thinking not for the first time _I’m glad she’s here._

“Let’s go,” Stiles tells the group, nodding deferentially to Caius.

“Wolves first,” Caius starts, eyes lingering on Stiles. He seems proud.

_If I’ve made him proud, I’ve done my job,_ Stiles thinks.

“Allison, you and Stiles find the Betas,” Derek adds. “Sheriff, try and keep the exits covered. Don’t get in close quarters if you can help it.”

“That goes for humans, too, son,” John deadpans.

Caius’ lips twitch into a smile.

“Let’s go, then.”

 

* * *

 

John watches the werewolves fight with half horror and half disbelief.

He thinks he’d expected bloodshed, really. Maybe death. He’d expected…monsters.

What he gets, instead, is the equivalent of policemen with claws and fangs.

_This is insane,_ he thinks distantly. _Werewolves, holding back._

And he knows they’re holding back.

“Go!” Caius shouts at his son.

Derek sprints forward and John watches them move like a well-oiled machine, jumping and tumbling past each other to trade off opponents as they need time to breathe. _Strategy,_ he thinks. _I wonder who came up with this. Do they just know? Or do they practice?_

He’s only ever seen a few cops accomplish the level of superhuman teamwork the werewolves are achieving.

“Sheriff!” Scott yells.

John blinks, realizing his mistake, and lurches back into the present. There’s a witch barreling towards him.

He breathes in, breathes out, and shoots.

The shot hits the witch’s leg and he tries to calm his pounding heart. They look human. He knows they’re not. Not exactly.

Apparently Stiles is ‘not exactly’, too.

“STOP!” A witch roars from the back of the bank.

The Pack pause, eyes swiveling to the woman. Her hair is a bloody red and it flies behind her as she walks, dragging something- no, _someones-_ behind her.

Erica, Boyd, and Isaac.

John flinches at the sight. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing teenagers beaten like punching bags.

“Stop, or I kill them,” the woman smiles, all teeth.

Derek growls.

“Let them go,” Caius says loudly. His voice echoes in the cement building.

John can see Allison, hiding in a corner, bow trained on the witch. He wants to tell her _shoot_ but he knows it’s not that simple.

“You can’t stop me,” the witch laughs. “I could kill them now and you couldn’t-,”

There’s a low whistle and a _thwip_ and John blinks, watching an eerily familiar chain with a crystal on the end wrap itself around the witch’s neck.

The witch’s eyes bulge and she chokes in rage, eyes wide as she tries to pull the chain.

“ _No, no,_ ” Stiles says and John exhales, watching his son.

His son, with eyes glowing a gold color he’d only seen once before.

_I thought it was a dream. The way I woke up that day, catching the gold color in her eyes as she looked at me. I thought it was the sun, reflected in my new wife._

He wants to cry and laugh and he thinks _having children is a beautiful, terrible thing_ and then Stiles is moving, walking closer to the witch he’s roped.

“Witchling,” the woman laughs, pulling at the chain with white knuckles. “You know your power is not as great as mine.”

“I am not simply a witch,” Stiles murmurs, pulling tighter.

The woman’s eyebrows furrow and John watches panic cross her face, desperation setting in as she gasps for air.

“He’s a _Spark_ , bitch,” Erica spits from the ground, grinning with blood on her teeth.

“Good luck,” Isaac laughs weakly.

And Boyd, the kid John has only ever seen on the sidelines, _smiles._

John doesn’t wonder why they’re so dedicated to Stiles. He doesn’t wonder why they aren’t afraid; doesn’t wonder why they laugh at the witch even as she holds them.

He doesn’t wonder because he _knows_. He knows and he can see Claudia in all her fierce light, before the sickness, when he’d woken to a flicker of heavenly gold.

He can see Claudia in Stiles and it doesn’t hurt and he thinks maybe, just maybe, this is what having a child is supposed to feel like.

 

* * *

 

Stiles hears his Betas- _my Betas,_ his heart tells him- laughing at the witch. He sends them a rush of pride and mischief and then he reaches within, holding his spark to the dry spot in his soul.

It flares to life, a fire, and the chain in his hands climbs in heat.

The witch screams and Stiles flicks his wrist, watching her fly across the room. He leaves her there, letting his power abate like a tide, still there but further away.

Caius steps over to the witch and Stiles approaches them, ready at the man’s left side. _The place of deference,_ he thinks. _The place of the next in command._

“You will not return,” Caius says, voice deadly and low. “If you do, we will kill you.”

The witch pants and she doesn’t rise when Caius turns, his hand brushing Stiles’ shoulder. It’s a familiar touch, the touch of family and Pack. Stiles smiles but stays where he is, leaning over the witch.

He presses a fiery thumb to her face, watching as she bites back a scream. The burn mark is angry and red.

“You won’t get within the city limits,” Stiles whispers in her ear.

When he backs away, he can see in her eyes that she believes him.

Caius looks both amused and proud when Stiles jogs to catch up with him, winking.

“How _very_ , darling,” Peter says silkily, raising one of Stiles’ hands to kiss it. “You _do_ have a thespian’s touch.”

“King of bullshit,” Stiles says cheerily, walking towards the exit.

“King,” Derek corrects, appearing suddenly at Stiles’ side. He’s smiling.

“Seconded,” Erica sighs, rubbing her wrists as they heal.

Stiles watches his father release the other Betas, hands careful as he cuts their bonds.

“Third…ed,” Isaac tries, brow wrinkled.

Stiles laughs, helping them to their feet. Boyd moves a bit closer when he’s released, joining the circle as Stiles allows the trio to get their first fill of Pack since they’d been taken.

“That was different,” John submits.

Stiles bites his tongue, nodding tensely. He can feel Erica brushing his elbow, Isaac’s fingers resting on the back of his shirt comfortingly. Even Boyd moves closer, a solid wall of support.

“Your mom had gold eyes once,” John says quietly.

Stiles smiles and from his father’s reaction, he thinks that maybe they’re starting to move forward.

 

* * *

 

The party is loud.

It’s also complete.

_Finally._

His father is somewhere talking to Caius. Stiles thinks that the Alpha is trying to broker some sort of peace between John and Talia; the mental image is entertaining.

Erica and Boyd are predictably babying Isaac in their own ways, Erica teasing him for eating too much while Boyd keeps getting him refills.

Scott is helping Allison test whether or not playing ‘pin the tail’ works with a crossbow.

“Don’t break the punch bowl!” Stiles calls to them cheerily.

“Happy birthday,” Cora tells him, pulling him into a rare hug.

“Thanks,” he replies, grinning.

“Eighteen,” Laura wiggles her eyebrows. “Leeeegaaaal~!”

Stiles tries and fails to stop his raging blush.

“Please stop,” Jackson gripes, rolling his eyes as he passes by with Lydia. “It’s hard enough already.”

“Hard is right,” Laura whispers in Stiles’ ear.

“Laura!” he yells at her, ignoring the burn on his face.

The subject of conversation is conspicuously avoiding Stiles.

It’s nothing personal, Stiles knows. Hell, their bond isn’t quite formed and he can _still_ feel the tension and desire running like a current under the mood of the party.

The evening wears on and eventually his father appears, looking pleasantly relaxed for once.

“You have school on Monday,” his father reminds him. It’s a trite conversation starter.

“Good thing it’s Friday,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, taking a sip of punch.

“Amen!” Erica screams from across the yard.

John shakes his head but he’s smiling, exasperated. Stiles thinks that his father is slowly developing a soft spot for the Betas. _Like everyone sane does,_ he thinks.

“…be safe,” John finally manages and as he turns swiftly and walks to his car Stiles is left gaping like a fish.

He can hear Laura crowing a few feet away as Jackson collapses into laughter.

“ _DA-d!!!!”_ Stiles manages, knowing the few werewolves in the vicinity can hear them.

Thankfully, only Laura and Jackson are close enough.

He’s sure everyone knows what’s going on, though, because when he gets back to the table Lydia is giving him a scrutinizing once-over.

“You need a shower,” she says mildly as she gets up to move.

_Jesus Christ,_ Stiles thinks as he sinks into his chair.

_Pack. Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live without ‘em…_

 

* * *

 

“Happy birthday,” Derek says and it’s raspy and low in the night.

“Mr. President?” Stiles adds breathlessly, laughing as he stumbles backwards into Derek’s apartment.

_I’d wondered if he’d sold the place,_ Stiles thinks absentmindedly as the door shuts.

“I’m not sure why I put up with you,” Derek notes.

“Because you love me,” Stiles jokes, smiling as he tugs at Derek’s shirt.

They both sigh into the kiss and Stiles feels oddly comfortable and right. _Like coming home,_ he thinks. _Kissing him is like coming home._

“I do love you,” Derek murmurs, pulling away enough to look Stiles in the eyes.

Stiles can feel his breath leaving him, knows his face is flushing even in the dark apartment.

“I know,” Stiles manages and Derek rolls his eyes, tugging Stiles into the living room.

“Are you honestly quoting-,”

“The answer is always yes, Derek,” Stiles says mischievously, using his longer legs to literally trip Derek onto the couch.

Derek only looks vaguely surprised and then his eyes promptly darken as Stiles fits his knees onto either side of his waist.

“That’s your problem,” Derek breathes, but his response is blunted by the uneven tone of his voice.

“You mean _your_ problem, now,” Stiles laughs, wiggling his body further down against Derek.

Derek hisses, eyes glowing for a second as he grips Stiles’ hips.

“ _Stop moving_.”

“You sure?” Stiles asks, lowering his voice. “’Cause I will. If you want me to. No means no.”

“Just…slow down,” Derek manages, slapping a hand over his eyes.

Stiles feels his heart soften and he smiles, leaning down to kiss the offending hand.

“Slow is good,” he agrees, moving to Derek’s mouth. “But we’ve been going slow for years.”

Stiles loves the way Derek kisses him. He isn’t sure if the man’s caught onto his honey trick but he thinks that Derek might like it anyways since it gives them both an excuse to get lost in a kiss, heat and sweetness overpowering every other sense.

“True,” Derek breathes when they break apart, hazel eyes heavy-lidded. “but one more night won’t kill us.”

“No,” Stiles agrees, smirking. “Not unless you’re going to keep me from moving.”

“…fine,” Derek grunts, flushed as he wiggles them further up the couch. “Move as you please.”

Stiles laughs, moving down to kiss the spot he’d bitten months ago on Derek’s chest. The man growls, moving against Stiles as if he wants more.

_Time to test my theory,_ Stiles thinks cheerfully.

This time when he bites Derek, he moves his hips where they’re resting on top of Derek’s.

Derek moans, back arching off the couch, and then his hand is tangled in Stiles’ hair.

“I love you,” Stiles whispers when he moves back up, mouth open over Derek’s.

Their words echo back at them through their bond, the connection flaring to life in a haze of glitter and gold.

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dorm is 90 fucking degrees right now and I'm so mad.   
> Anyways. I hope you all enjoyed, because I know I did. I love this 'verse and I would continue it forever and ever because the Hale family and Stiles feels are killer to me. So, there you go.  
> Also:  
> 1) Someone asked me the other day who/what my headcanon for Papa Hale was.   
> It is THIS:   
> http://www.nologomgmt.com/PhotosRepository/Web/58bee6ac-6e3e-4783-acd8-4b62ee17bea1/afb562b1-fd37-4ab4-a78b-ee4f5d78ad85/Test2_Andoni125.jpg  
> and  
> http://66.media.tumblr.com/fe901c66d79437f914779f01d0d53051/tumblr_ne0zsyPXkb1tsvyslo1_540.jpg

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something again. I wanted it to be a one-shot, but it spun out of control and ended up as a more sprawling universe. I liked the idea of a childhood friendship and I really wanted to stay as true to the basic facts of the show as possible so I decided to keep in the basics and alter them as I saw fit. Hopefully you enjoy!


End file.
